Bloody Winter
by Eserechia
Summary: "An honorable King, a humble princess. We sound like a bards tale."Will Robb survive when a lost Targaryen princess makes him question his beliefs? Is Jon destined for greater things after he gave up the thing he loves the most. A tale of love, lust, lies,honor and deceit in a world where enemies lurk behind every corner. Let the Game of Thrones begin. Robb/OC
1. Prologue

**A/n: greetings fellow addicts. this is the new and improved version.**

 **Disclaimer: all recognized material belongs to its owners, plot and oc's belong to me**

 **Prologue**

Fog covered the ground in a thick white blanket. It would've looked unspoiled; virgin like if it were not for the littered corpses of faceless men. Robb walked around in a dazed state, sword in hand ready to strike down anyone who dare attack, not grasping that he was the lone survivor. He was not scared he found as he wiped beads of sweat from his brow, a surprising fact given the massacre that must have taken place a few moments before.

Black crows circled the sky above, impassive as to what horrors had occurred. The air reeked of blood, piss and sweat and the sound of the harsh ripping of flesh as animals feasted on the dead.

Far off in the distance he could make out a fortress, bathed in flames. There was a gentle breeze in the air that carried the soft, alluring voice of a woman. Hypnotized he followed until he came upon her. She was standing at the edge of a cliff, dressed in white, the makings of a crown crooked upon her head. She reached out, beckoning him towards her. His heart beat faster and although he wanted to run to her at once, he composed himself and instead walked until they stood toe to toe.

Her eyes were closed, but he knew a fire burned there that would engulf him upon first sight. Gently he reached out to caress the curve of her exposed neck and shoulder. She liked this, he knew, just as he knew that she would disagree vehemently is he called her out on it.

Immediately he drew back, his hand coated in warm crimson blood. Suddenly the happy feeling vanished, replaced by dread as he gazed on in horror as blood flowed freely. He tried to stop it, had discarded his cloak and tried to stop the blood in a panicked state.. He couldn't lose her, not now, but his efforts were in vain. Slowly her image became more blurred until she vanished completely, leaving him with a hole in his heart and blood on his hands.

A lion roared, the stag attacked, the direwolf gave a vicious howl. He looked up again to plead and weep with the old gods as her plea was still whispered by the wind; set me free...

Robb woke at once, covered in a thin layer of cold sweat, exhausted after a restless night. The sun had not yet risen, but the groans of the injured could be heard distantly, evidence that the feared Northmen weren't as invincible as all believed. Guilt ate at him once more when he thought of the 2000 men that didn't have to fortune to groan in pain. Not anymore.

It had been a week since the battle of the Whispering Wood and every night the woman visited him, leaving him waking up, usually breathless for very unwanted reasons. He could never recall her face or the sound of her voice, but her words were lodged in his brain; request always the same: set me free. He shook his head, stood up and began dressing, slightly irritated. He had more pressing matters to be concerned with; his sisters, brothers, father, leading men into battle. The last letter his father had sent him was close at hand, mocking him. The letter's contents will without a doubt change the Seven Kingdoms forever.

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	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1: Kings Landing**

 _"In King's Landing there are two sorts of people. The players and the pieces..." -Littlefinger_

The blistering sun shone brightly upon Blackwater Bay. The Silent Maiden, a trade ship from the Summer Isles, had just docked, carrying various assortments of goods. Sailors scurried about, trying to unload as soon as possible in order to spend more time in the brothels. After nearly two moons at sea most men had a burning that only a woman's touch could soothe.

Amongst the chaos, three women were standing, not lifting a finger to help, nor moving out of the way. Their clothes betrayed their wealth and would be deemed improper for these lands; light vibrantly coloured material, low cut in the back .

"Rest o' payment Miss. Another satchel o' gold I believe, or one o' them pretty lasses perhaps?" the gap toothed, middle aged captain spoke, uncaring towards the bear of a man that stood five paces behind them. The captain had put up with them the whole journey, had to continually remind his men that the women were not for their pleasure and that they should not act upon their desires. He'd be damned if he didn't receive some form of compensation.

The Miss raised one eyebrow slightly before reaching into her purse and handing him a pouch.

"Do not spend it all on one whore Captain, I hear the brothels here have quite the variety." Having said that, she turned around and glided towards the carriage that awaited her, three companions following close behind. She felt elated; as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. It had been two summers since they'd been home. Two summers of traveling, plotting and scheming. The time to repent had finally arrived...

 **Eddard**

He should've declined. He should've told Robert flat out that he couldn't accept the position as Hand. Starks were rumoured to have ice in their blood. They belonged in the North, where people were considered colder than the land itself, honour still had meaning and the Old Gods were ever present. Not in this choking heat where lies and deceit seemed to be the norm. Jon Arryn's discovery disturbed him; children born of incest. They'll have another Mad King on their hands sooner or later and worse even, the Lannisters will have what they've always wanted: power over the Seven Kingdoms.

He ran his hand over his face once more as he watched his youngest daughter sleep, exhausted himself, yet he couldn't rest. Arya had expressed her loathing for this place and in a bid to quell his youngest spitfire of a daughter he had agreed to let her have sword lessons. Pride swelled in his chest when he witnessed her parrying blows with Syrio Forrel. Were women allowed to become knights, he had no doubt that she would be the best one the Seven Kingdoms had ever seen.

He was worried for their well-being. They weren't supposed to be here. Sansa, his kind, lovely lady-like daughter should not be betrothed to that royal prick, as Robb liked to call him. He should've made a different match, one closer to home mayhaps where he knew the people, could trust the people. He shuddered at the thought of the life she would have here and even though he knew she had a desire to become queen, she was still too innocent to the cruelty of reality. He had condemned his eldest daughter to a marriage where she would be treated like nothing but a concubine.

Robb, his eldest son, was the Warden of the North now. Such a big responsibility suddenly shoved upon his shoulders. Eddard found that he suddenly wished for more time with him; to groom and to watch him grow. He had met his son when he was nearly three name days old. He had missed his first steps and words and no matter how hard he tried to make up for it in the following years, he knew he would never be able to.

At least he had his mother with him. Although the first few summers following their marriage had been strained at best, no thanks to him, he had grew to love her fiercely. He had tried to make up for it, tried to atone for the wrong he had done to her, but knew he never could. Every time he had to leave afterward, even just for a fortnight, she had begged him to not bring another bastard into her home, and she had made sure that while he was home, that he would never stray from their bed. Catelyn, his loving, strong, beautiful wife now had to put up with so much more, especially since Bran's fall.

Bran didn't deserve such a fate. The boy was supposed to become a knight one day, protecting others. He shouldn't be fighting for his life. When he heard the news, Eddard had gone to the Gods Wood, weeping a prayer, as he begged for his son's life. Even now, away from home, he still prayed for his well-being and hoped that the old gods would somehow answer. He could still see Arya and Bran, chasing each other about, Rickon laughing for no apparent reason.

Another sudden realization set in: Rickon wouldn't know him. He wouldn't be there to watch his youngest grow into a man or help him with his sword training like he had done with Robb and Jon when he had some spare time- however rare that may have been.

Jon, his son, gone to the Wall with Benjen. He should've stopped the boy, legitimized him even. Cat had even consented once. It had been when Jon was young still and had fallen into the frozen lake, which was forbidden for them to play in. Jon and Robb had sneaked off from their studies, gone to play, when the accident happened.

He could still remember the day clearly and the fear that had accompanied it was still unparalleled. Robb running to him, red faced and crying, blubbering through sobs that Jon had fallen into the frozen lake. Eddard had never run as fast as he had that day, fueled by dread and fear. He would rather face a thousand men than see the body of his child. Upon his arrival, Jon laid still, covered in Robb's cloak, lips a pale blue. Everything that happened after was a blur: him racing back to Winterfell, to find a warm bath had been prepared for Jon in their chambers. Catelyn had taken the boy, bathed him and sat with him as he slept in their bed. When he came to her that evening she had declared that she wanted Jon legitimized, would rather have him as an equal to her children than see him gone forever.

She had tried to love Jon - perhaps even did -, but alas he couldn't dishonour her even more than he already had; no doubt she would've regretted her words fueled by grief and guilt. He had made a promise though. A promise that he'd tell Jon all about his mother upon his return. The prospect of him returning seemed highly unlikely now. He had too many worries here, problems and secrets crippling him. That was surely a huge benefactor as to why he seemed to only smile in the presence of his family, and occasionally at that too.

He sighed and thought about happier times in Winterfell, only to discover that they'd become harder to recollect. With that final thought Ned turned and left, sleep his only salvation.

 **Daena**

Darkness had descended once more when the party of four arrived in Rosby. No more than fifteen leagues from Kings Landing, the town was near enough to be included in the gossip people seemed to be prone to spreading, but far enough to remain incognito, for now.

"Darion, be a dear and unload the trunks while your are still here," she said. Darion was a large man, brown skinned with green eyes. Toned and scarred from years of fighting, with the greying hair at his temples the only feature that betrayed his true age. He was by no means a handsome man, far from it, but they had been intimate more than a couple of times in the past, when nights became too lonely or she yearned for a release. Daena had met him in Pentos, shortly after she had fled Kings Landing the first time, almost fourteen summers past. Still young and scared herself.

The girls were little then, innocent to the cruelty of the world. Bright eyed they had stumbled upon him outside their barely there cottage, beaten to near death. Daena didn't consider herself to be a good person, but she didn't want a stranger dying in front of her door, upsetting her children. Nor did she want to answer questions or deal with vengeful kin, so she had dragged him inside and nursed him back to health. He hadn't let her journey alone since. After helping them get settled, he always wandered off on his own, only to miraculously appear once they are to depart again. His past remained a mystery to her, but then again so did hers, not that she would ever tell him the truth.

A promise was a promise after all and she intended to keep hers. The girls were wary of him at first, but after they'd helped nurse him back to health, his presence didn't frighten them anymore.

Darion simply gave her a look, but proceeded to do her bidding. She turned and walked towards the entrance of Rostine Inn, a lavish building that they would be occupying for the remainder of their stay. At that she smirked, glad that she wouldn't be paying a single penny.

...

The innkeeper looked up when he heard the door open, surprised to see a woman enter. Usually it was one of them high lords that came here to fuck their mistresses or, recently, a guest journeying back home after attending a tourney. Tall and slender, she walked towards him, black hair tied back. She wasn't old, even though she was past her child bearing days. Nevertheless she was rather pretty. Dornish probably. Her eyes were dark, almost black, he noted when she stood opposite him.

"Lady Mayor," was all she said. Her tone was deep for a woman and she spoke with an accent.

Recognition suddenly dawned. So this was the guest of the late Jon Arryn. "Ah, Lady Mayor, I trust the journey went well and you've received a proper greeting upon your return."

"Indeed, even the birds broke out in song." At those words the innkeeper nodded and reached into his pocket, producing two keys.

"I hope the stay here is to your satisfaction M'lady."

She nodded and left. Her stay had already been paid, four moons in advance and came with numerous requests: the whole upper level was to be left for her use, they were not to be bothered, no one was to be let inside, he was not allowed to question her, her fucking breads were not allowed to be sweet. Granted the last one was made up, but it made him feel slightly better in knowing that she was high maintenance and that his inn wasn't shit. All he was given was a sentence and an answer, to ensure he wasn't dealing with an imposter. No matter. He was just glad that he had received quite a large sum of coins extra for the 'inconvenience' as well as the payment before Jon Arryn's untimely death.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Myths and Legends.

"I grew up with soldiers, I learned to die a long time ago" - Ned Stark

It had been a week since their arrival at Rostine Inn and although their stay had been comfortable, the fact that no one had reached out to them yet was bothersome. Rumour had it that there was a hunting game to be held the coming week. Sadly the King hadn't keeled over from his excessive weight gain over the years, his whoring ways good for at least something, keeping him fit to a degree.

Nevertheless they weren't used to being sitting ducks or left in the dark. If the wrong person were to know about their presence before the opportune time, they'd surely not survive.

Daena was sitting near the fire in the hearth, candlelight casting the room in an orange glow. It was a bit colder here, a familiar cold that she found to have missed. She contemplated what had led to their recent return. The missive that Jon Arryn had sent was reduced to ashes after having read it, but she could still recall every single word.

"The seed is strong, but wasn't planted. Madness will reign. The flames need to burn once more."

At first she had panicked when she saw who it had been from. When they had returned to King's Landing the previous time, Jon Arryn had found out about their identity. It had cost Daena a lot of begging and pleading, in various states of undress and positions, to ensure that the old man kept his trap shut. Panic had set in and she had to act fast. If they ran, all hell could break loose. Having him as her ally would be the better option, especially given his high position as Hand. However, she knew were it not for The Lord of Whisper's fascination with all things Targaryen, that Lord Arryn could still have talked.

Darion had left a few minutes prior with a letter of her own to be delivered into the hands of Varys. She still remembered the bald, robed man from her days in the castle. Even though she was naught more than a servant, she missed her time there. Her Lady was kind and had become one of her closest friends. They had shared secrets, heartbreak and her Lady had made sure that she was well taken care of in all aspects of her life.

Daena shook her head, knowing that tears usually followed that memory. Darion needed to be swift in his delivering before going on his merry way again. With that thought she went to bed. The morrow held new challenges and she might just have to visit the Streets of Silk.

...

Chataya's brothel was just as she remembered; albeit the prostitutes were a bit more adventurous. "Ah, Lady Sand, it has been a while. Finally decided to come work for me have you?" Littlefinger. He had aged rather well since she had last seen him.

"I go by Lady Mayor now Lord Baelish. It would serve you well to remember that," she replied as she studied the jewels that adorned her arms intently. Such luxury was something she did not have for most of her life and she found herself gazing admiringly at such expensive delicacies rather frequently. Now that she could afford it.

He nodded and gestured for her to follow him. The walls had ears in King's Landing and the matter they were going to discuss was rather sensitive in nature.

She had met Lord Baelish around six summers prior, upon their return to King's Landing. The man had offered her a position at his brothel, one she had declined upon noting the way he eyed her children. Nevertheless, he had the perfect set up to catch wind of all the Lord's throughout the whole of Westeros, a powerful ally indeed. She had taken a great risk upon saying that she was a spy for the Martell family - not so much a lie as a bent truth. But the man simply laughed and invited her in. That night they had played a game of tell me yours and I'll tell you mine and a strange friendship had been forged.

That's not to say that she was not careful as to what she revealed to him. On the contrary, she contemplated her words more so with him. He was a man with ambition, and ambition was dangerous.

"I trust you've heard of the rumours regarding the King's children?" He said as he led her though the brothel. Strangely she felt at ease here. The vibrant colours and women without inhibition reminded her of her childhood in Dorne.

"Yes, that is why I decided to pay you a visit. I've heard of the Kingslayer's spawn. If I'm to understand correctly that is why Arryn had an unfortunate illness?" He offered wine as she spoke which was declined with a shake of her head. The spicy aroma of it drifted through the air. Dornish. Marylean would love that, she decided as she sank down into a plush red chair

"There has been rumours of it, yes," she nodded and watched as Petyr sat opposite her. A silence followed, both contemplating what they had just discussed. She felt happiness where others would feel disgust. If it weren't for this news, they would probably never have returned. For once, she didn't harbor as much hatred for the Lannisters as she used to. Their folly meant that almost seventeen summers on the run could finally come an end.

"Eddard also knows," Petyr revealed with a glint in his eyes.

At that she blanched. Eddard. He was one of five people who knew her most well guarded secret, Hand of the King now. He was the talk of the town; the newly appointed stoic Lord Hand. She hadn't seen him in nearly sixteen years, but his name sent a shiver down her spine. Fear. Fear of being discovered. He had warned her about returning and she had already defied him once. Will he tell Robert?

No. He was a Stark. Their honour was legendary. Then again, legends and myths were often one in the same.

Catelyn

Catelyn was sitting at the window, gazing at the moon high in the sky, not wanting to return to the cold bed. She found it uncomfortable and served as a reminder that Ned was not with her. She missed him terribly. Her world was crumbling around her piece by piece and he was not here in all his stoic glory to fix it.

Bran was alive and awake, but he'd never walk again. Her sweet, kind hearted son that wanted to be knighted will forever be dependent on others. She had wept when she heard the news, and wished that she could somehow trade places with her child.

Robb grew more distant and cold as the days passed, even while she had still been there next to him. Guilt consumed her. No doubt the responsibilities of being a Lord weighed heavily on him. He might favour her colouring, but his mannerisms screamed Stark. Catelyn found comfort in that, her son took after his father and would be all right.

She even found that she missed Jon a little, although she would never admit to it. The boy had served as a constant reminder of Ned's infidelity throughout the years. In truth she was jealous. If the boy took after his mother, she would've even gone as far to say that she would be warm towards him. But no, the resemblance between Jon and Ned was uncanny. Were Ned younger they could have passed for twins.

Throughout the years she had hoped, prayed that, even if it were a girl, one of her children would bare that same resemblance. Her prayers went unanswered. She knew that she was the reason he went to the wall, her bitterness drove him to join the Nights Watch. Partly. She may not have held much if any love for the boy, but she could see the blossoming romance between him and Heleyna Cassel. They had been smitten, but their love was not to be. He was a bastard with nothing to offer while she had been betrothed to the Bolton heir. She suspected that was what had given him the final shove he needed.

Nevertheless, his presence would've been easier to bare in the absence of his father's and he could've been the shoulder that Robb needed to lean on. Rather his bastard brother than Theon. His womanizing ways would've surely turned worse when she left.

Catelyn sighed and closed her eyes, thinking back on her last night in King's Landing, a sad smile tugging at the corner of her lips. There had been an urgency to Ned's touches and he barely let her rest between bouts of making love. Tired and spent she had rode away again that morning, a familiar ache between her legs.

Not that she was complaining. After their disastrous start, she had gradually warmed to her husband. When he had returned she did not touch him for a year, too mad to even bare the thought of letting him near her again. It was her then Lady's Maid that had made her see reason and given her advice - do not give him reason to stray once more.

Now, she just couldn't help to compare it to the night they spend together when Robb had been made or before he had went to repress the Greyjoy Rebellion. He was saying goodbye.

Eddard

Sneaking around in King's Landing was not one of Ned's favourite pass times - if he had any. He found a letter greeting him upon waking this morn.

Rostine Inn - the sun is rising.

He didn't recognize the handwriting and although he was apprehensive at first, he decided to pay the inn a visit, especially after catching a glimpse of a tall, dark skinned and black haired woman in the Street of Silk yesterday. He had to know if his suspicions were correct and if yes, what in the hell that woman was thinking? Another problem for him to deal with.

It was past dusk now and he had finally managed to leave the city behind, Ice his only protection. Rosby Road was at the Old Gate and thankfully near the more civilized part of the city. He galloped along the road, passing small farms as he went until he came upon the town of Rosby.

It was nighttime now and the only source of light came from the moon, round and silver in the sky. He looked at it for a few seconds longer, knowing that his wife and children were met with the same sight.

Rostine Inn was placed at the edge of Rosby, a couple of leagues east of the road. The inn itself was lavish and probably cost the inhabitants an arm and a leg. He dismounted when a stable boy appeared to take the horse away. In the upper level of the keep, light flickered. The great wooden doors of the inn were partly opened, candles lighting the foyer.

The innkeeper glanced up at his entry. "Welcome to Rostine Inn my lord, where the finest accommodations awaits you." Ned simply looked at the short stout man with graying hair, dressed impeccably even this late. Southerners, he would never understand them.

He paid for one of the smaller rooms near the staircase and bided his time. Even innkeepers needed to relieve themselves from time to time.

Ned sat in the room for quite some time before slipping out. The registration book didn't have any signatures beside himself, which meant that if she were here, the upper level would house her. The stairs creaked slightly as he ascended. At the top he scanned the shut doors. One emitted light. He contemplated knocking, but thought better of it. If it were her, he'd need to catch her off guard, without any masks. He opened the door and saw the woman sitting in front of a desk, black hair unbound, writing.

"Daena."

Daena

She did not expect this. After all these years Ned Stark still seemed to catch her off guard. His voice was deep and gravelly as he spoke, still looming in her doorway. His hair was longer now, a couple of grey streaks within. Even though he was older now, she still considered him to be comely, for a Northman that is.

"You came back."

When words seemed to fail her momentarily, she nodded and gestured for him to sit. He opted to move closer and closed the door, still standing.

"Lord Stark, or is it Lord Hand now? You seem to have me at a disadvantage here. What on earth brings you to these parts? " Keep it pleasant Daena, she reminded herself, he helped you once.

"Save the pleasantries Lady Sand, you are supposed to be in Essos," blunt as always Ned spoke, his voice low and controlled.

"Oh, my Lord, I came back again is what you are missing. After nine years of traveling, King's Landing beckoned us once more. Granted, the Keep never saw me again but the children..."

"Were supposed to be safe. Damn you Daena, what were you thinking? If the wrong person grew suspicious of the girl all our efforts would've been in vain."

"You're mistaken Eddard. I've done nothing that wasn't expected of me - running during the sack of King's Landing! Hiding in plain sight for almost a year before being discovered by you thankfully, traveling for years. Nine years Eddard, away from home with two girls to care for. Have you any idea how hard that was? Yes, we came back. Allies needed to be forged, plans made. It was a bit too soon and after what.." She caught herself mid sentence. This was Robert's friend. He may have helped her but his loyalties lied with him. No matter how frustrated or scared she was of what his presence meant, she had to remain calm and collected.

Lowering her voice, she attempted to speak to him in a more civilized manner. "We remained for four years before leaving for the Summer Isles. The time is near now, we both know it. The Lannister's sins will come to light and then her revelation will be made."

"Daena you should leave. I gave you, them, a chance at life."

"Yes, that was oh so honourable of you Lord Stark, but she is my responsibility. I raised her. So don't you dare stand there and and tell me what I should have done. I did what was asked of me, out of loyalty and love. Thank the gods she took more after her mother, it made hiding so much easier." Daena didn't realize her voice had risen yet again to such a degree. She couldn't believe this man. How dare he tell her how to raise the children!

She looked up as the door was opened, Rhayna in the doorway. "Mother?"

Eddard

When the door opened, Ned swung around, hand gripping the hilt of his sword. Since his arrival in King's Landing he felt himself growing more paranoid by the day.

"Mother?" The girl was the spitting image of Daena, tall, slender with black hair and obsidian eyes. She was dressed in her robes, candle in hand.

"Rhayna, dear. This is Lord Stark. You remember him, yes?" Rhayna nodded.

"Vaguely," she said in a soft voice. "You gave me treats and let mother keep the baby,. I was five name days old and you let me ride on your horse once, before making us leave our home."

Ned nodded, surprised that she remembered so much. He felt ashamed however when she said that. Back then he had also been young and had been itching to go back North. Eddard knew now that he should've stayed longer, perhaps even have kept in touch.

She moved to stand in front of him, and they were almost eye level he noted.

It was true, he had made them leave their home. If Robert or Tywin were to know of the baby Daena had in her care, the Mountain would've been set loose once more. He despised Robert for allowing that and the fact that he hadn't arrived at the Red Keep sooner, still haunted him. So many lives could've been spared. The queen, princess, all the children. When the rumours of a Lost Princess started flying about, he searched like a man possessed. It took a whole year before he found them, well The Master Of Whispers had.

Apparently some of the people recognized Daena, one of the maids in the castle, in the countryside with a babe. To this day he was grateful for being at the right place at the right time. Varys had been younger then and not quite as skilled at controlling all his little birds.

He immediately went to the farm, a dilapidated building hidden in the woods. The conditions he found them to be living in were harsh, no food, torn clothes and a barely-there roof. A black haired, brown skinned, dirty little girl greeted him at the door, knife in hand. A tall young woman had appeared behind her, barefooted, with the same colouring.

Upon realizing who he was, she yanked the little girl inside and attempted to close the door in his face. It took the remainder of that day to convince her that he was no threat and that she had to leave. He had arranged for Daena and the girls to depart that very night, off to Essos.

"Rhayna, go back to your room. Lord Stark and I are reminiscing about old times." Rhayna nodded her head and glanced at him once more before departing. "She thought you were her father once. When I asked why she said it was because you gave her treats and a ride on the horse."

Eddard didn't know how to respond to that so he opted to stay silent.

Just when he thought they were alone once more another figure appeared in the doorway and spoke in a haunting voice. "Good evening my Lord, Marylean Targaryen, Princess of the Seven Kingdoms."


	4. Chapter 3

_"Power resides where men believe it resides. It's a trick, a shadow on the wall" - Varys_

 _ **Chapter 3: The Lost Princess**_

 **Eddard**

Eddard stood dumbfounded as he gazed at the girl, woman, who stood in front of him. He had held her once when she was but a babe, swaddled in a cloth barely big enough to cover her red-faced and crying form.

She had been tiny, smaller than Jon had been, but very curious. After he had managed to calm her she had grasped at his cloak, hair, face. Any and everything seemed to have mesmerized her. Her smile, in all it's toothless glory, had been infectious and made his longing for home subside, even for just that immediate moment.

That was sixteen years ago. It seemed that she was still on the small side in both height and width, yet she seemed to look down at him, judge him for all the wrong decisions he had made for the right reasons.

He could clearly see what Daena had meant by she took after her mother's side, the only trace of Targaryen he could find was the fire in her hazel brown orbs.

"Now Lord Stark, why so silent. Frozen tongue? I can assure you that you may speak freely here, this is a circle that cares." Her tone was biting, dripping with sarcasm as she spoke. It didn't take a genius to figure out that she didn't hold the same praise toward him that Rhayna had.

She had cocked her head slightly and raised an eyebrow. Daena had a great influence on the girl he noted. The way she carried herself spoke of confidence.

"Mary." Daena gave her a warning, one that she seemed to heed. Marylean raised her chin and seized him up, before turning towards Daena.

"My apologies Lady Mayor." Daena nodded her head before Marylean turned to leave. "Oh, and Lord Stark, I do hope you have a safe journey back. Accidents do seem to happen in abundance nowadays." With that final comment thrown over her shoulder she closed the oak door behind her, leaving the room bereft.

"That girl has always had a certain flare for the dramatics, very much like Princess Elia." Ned nodded, still seemingly at a loss for words. Seeing her again represented everything he had lost, should have done differently as well as a whirlpool of what ifs. What if he had taken her back with him? No, not an option. He couldn't claim her as another bastard, one was enough. The gods only knew how guilt and shame ate at him all those years.

No, he berated himself. He could not condone his actions then, delivering a scared woman and two children to the harsh cruelty of the world. He deserved to feel shame, loathing and self hatred.

"She looks nothing like Rhaegar," he said, through the guilt that made his mouth taste bitter.

Daena smiled and Ned realized that it was the first time she had ever looked carefree, walls down. "Yes, I thank the gods every time someone from the past sees her. Then again, it made going unnoticed in Dorne a bit more of a challenge."

So she had gone to Dorne. He should've known that the wide-eyed maid would not have listened and remained in exile. As always he remained calm and glanced about the spacious room. It was neat with the trunks standing at the door, most likely packed, ready to grab should the need arise.

"Do they know?" It was best to not preach again. What's done is done. He could do nothing to change that. And he found himself defeated, tired, confused. He was at a complete loss of what to do.

"Now Eddard, I can't go around and reveal my secrets without some form of compensation." He could clearly see what she meant by compensation from the way she eyed him.

"I've refused you once and I'll do so again. I have a wife whom I love very much." She shook her head at that and gestured towards the wine pitcher. He declined, ale was his preference.

"Can't blame a lady for trying, but like I said I'll keep my secrets. Our survival depends on it. Know this though, when war breaks out again, Dorne will not be as dormant and indecisive as before."

Ned nodded, not pushing further. Truth was he was tired. Tired of lies, deceit, betrayal, the absence of his family. It was all taking its toll on him and he couldn't quite shake the feeling that it had to become a lot worse before things would look up again.

...

"Rhayna looks just like you." They were sitting in chairs in front of the fire, had been for some time, a pitcher of water nearby. Daena did most of the talking while Ned just answered the questions directed at him.

She spoke mostly of trivial things, some of the places they've seen, people they've met and, as expected of parents, their children.

With her dark features and tall, slender form Rhayna was the spitting image of her mother, even down to the strong jaw, plump lips and sharp, pointed nose. Daena knew her daughter was beautiful, exotic even amongst these pale faces. Even though her breasts were small, her waist flared out to wide hips, perfect for childbearing.

Littlefinger had his eye on her before they had left. The price he was willing to pay for her Dornish features had been rather hefty. The younger one he would come fetch in a few more years, once she had blossomed, he'd said with a flourish. Daena had declined his offer.

"Yes, well better me than her father I'd say." It was true, Rhayna's father had not been the prettiest of men.

They were silent for a few moment before surprisingly Ned spoke again. "Marylean is beautiful, Daena. Her parents would've been proud." Not knowing the girl, Ned couldn't comment on much else aside from her physical appearance. He was a man of Winter, but he wasn't cold in the ground yet. He could see beauty and appreciate it as well as anyone else.

A darkness entered Daena's eyes at his last comment "Yes, she is very beautiful indeed. But like most things in life, beauty such as hers comes at a price, paid in pounds of flesh."

 **The Wall**

Jon watched as Sam grew silent by the fire. It was Sam's first trip to the top of the Wall, his first night on watch and Jon knew he was frightened. The cold Northern wind whistled and howled ominously as it blew across the frozen rampart at the top of the wall, pulling at his heavy cloaks and fur mantel.

His eyes shifted from his anxious companion to the dark horizon again. The land beyond the Wall was barren and the stories that were told spoke of monsters and places men feared to tread. Then again it could've been just old Nan trying to scare him and Robb. It worked and had lead to rather interesting games played in the dark halls of his home.

Needless to say whether it were old wives tales or the stark reality that was concealed by Southerners, he was ready to face whatever lay beyond this wall, ready to protect all those he cared for. That wasn't to say he didn't share Sam's apprehension and fear, but unlike Sam, he had chosen this. It was the right choice, the only choice really. He hadn't had a reason to stay.

His father had been called away to do the king's bidding, taking Sansa and Arya with him. Robb, Bran and Rickon had stayed behind and although it had pained him to leave them, staying at Winter fell in his father's absence had not been an option; Lady Stark would not have it. She had made her feelings clear once again when he went to see Bran before he left. He wasn't welcome, he wasn't wanted. Despite all that, he might have stayed if...

He tried to shut his thoughts down, tried to push their memories away, but they came regardless of his efforts in all their bittersweet splendor.

Her happy smile and bright eyes, the almost obnoxious lilt to her laugh. If she had been there when he left she would've seen his doubts, teased him and most likely offend his manhood in the process.

Heleyna Cassel had grown into a lady and played the part extremely well, but away from the prying eyes of others she would revert back to the terror she had been when they were children, a true thorn in the side.

A smile tugged at his lips when he remembered a particular afternoon long ago when they had all gone fishing in a creak near Winterfell. She hadn't been invited. They thought they'd done a grand thing sneaking off and leaving her behind only to find her already there, on the bank opposite them, proudly displaying the four fat fishes she had caught.

She'd waded across the shallow water not sparing any of them a glance, regal despite her muddy , wet dress hiked up around her knees, fiery hair blowing haphazardly. "I suppose I'd best go," her expression was severe as she continued, "After all, if I stayed you would never catch any fish."

The slight smile on his face grew before changing as another memory crept up on him. He refused to acknowledge their changing relationship at first, but in the end he couldn't resist her. She had chipped off the ice around his heart until only warmth remained and he was consumed by her...

 _It was past midnight when he finally came to his rooms. Goodbyes had been said and he and Robb had shared some ale and reminisced about the good old days. Now though he found his thoughts once again on Lena. Funny, kind, beautiful Lena who teased him and drove him to his wits end._

 _She would never be his and she would soon cease to be a Cassel entirely. News of her betrothal was the final nail in the coffin. He could deal with Lady Stark's cold glances and Sansa's indifferent attitude towards him in the presence of her friends, but he could not deal with this._

 _He needed to find a place for himself and uncle Benjen had given the solution. The Wall. A place where he could make name for himself and where he would not be scorned for being a bastard. He stopped in front of his door and ran a hand through his shorter hair. Tonight would be his last night here._

 _When he opened the heavy wooden door he was dumbstruck by the sight that awaited him. The rooms built in Winterfell were practical, built by Northerners for Northerners. No lavish decorations or intricate crafts were needed for survival. Less was more and there was no place for beauty in the lands if it's always winter._

 _There on his moderate sized bed, wrapped in a white fur cloak, his greatest grief awaited him in all her warmhearted glory. Ghost was snoring in front of the fire, built by Lene he presumed._

 _"You weren't going to say goodbye," she spoke, her voice soft. Void of any accusations. The sadness in her eyes amplified that coursing through his veins._

 _"I wouldn't be able to leave if I had." He spoke the truth when he said that, always when it came to Lena. She stood as he spoke, almost the same height as him._

 _"It is alright, I know. I have been doing the same after all." He nodded as she said that, understanding her absence. If only fate had not dealt them her cruel hand. He would've stayed, endured being shunned by the only mother figure he ever knew, for her. Alas, summer with all its happy smiles and stolen moments had to end to make way for the harshness of winter._

 _" I may marry the Bolton heir in name Jon, but I choose you. Know that. When you are away seeking love, recognition, redemption. In all that you do, know that I choose you." Her voice was steady, sure as if defying her future by speaking those words. He wanted to believe her, wished he could._

 _White fur pooled at her feet, revealing naked flesh underneath. Long, straight crimson hair kept her breasts hidden from his view and stopped at a waist that flared into shapely hips and long, milky white legs. She walked towards him, his hand resting on the doorknob tightening, as did his stomach._

 _The ale was off, Robb had drugged him. This was just his mind, playing cruel tricks on him. Reality set in as his vision reached out to him. His eyes immediately went to her face. He gulped, knowing that this couldn't happen, especially now. When she came to a stop in front of him she took his hand off of the doorknob and removed his glove._

 _Soft, pale lips pressed gentle kisses upon his fingers and her nerves were reflected clearly in moss green eyes. It was one of the reasons he loved her, she wasn't afraid to wear her heart on her sleeve. "I choose you Jon," she repeated before placing his bare hand on her small left breast. His heart pounded in his chest as all the blood seemed to rush to his nether regions._

 _"Please choose me, just for tonight. Please Jon choose me." He could feel her heart beat rapidly beneath his hand that she held in place. Before he could second guess himself his lips descended upon her pale ones in a searing kiss._

 _Jon drew away for breath, his mouth instantly moving to map the dusting of freckles upon her shoulders. "Yes, Heleyna, I choose you."_

 _Just like that, a fire was lit between them._

He shook his head , refusing to go any further. They were in the past. The wall was his future.

 **Varys**

Varys stood in his chambers, hands folded in his robes, contemplating his next move. He had received the letter a week before the King's accident. Daena had settled in quite splendidly and he was glad that Arryn had the foresight to pay for her stay a few moons in advance before his death.

Little birds are safely caged, the sun hidden behind the clouds. The snake will catch all whispering mice in due time.

Best not to have any traces of him should they fail. A little bird had told him that the snake had paid Littlefinger a visit. That man knew nothing of the princess thankfully. As far as he was concerned, Daena was simply blessed with two beautiful daughters, the youngest taking after her 'father'.

Varys had not yet paid her a visit since their return, but he had always kept an eye on her, while she was a maid in the Keep and throughout her travels. Birds flew everywhere, even as far as Essos and the Summer Isles. Eddard Stark had made his first mistake in trusting a lowly sea captain's honour sixteen years ago and the Snake did not manage to catch a rat.

 **Marylean**

A pale sky was cast over the bustling peasants of King's Landing; trying to survive another day by any means possible. Amongst them a young woman moved incognito, concealed by a filthy red cloak. The sky seemed to reflect her gloomy mood as she carried a basket of goods with her, trekking towards an old, worn down, cottage situated in Flea Bottom. The streets reeked of piss and sweat, commoners were either fighting, sleeping or engaging in improper activities. She couldn't help but turn her nose up. If her father were still alive and King by now, he would surely not have let this great city be reduced to such a shithole.

People glanced at the woman in red, wanting to steel from, kill or fuck her. A smirk played at her lips at the thought that she was untouchable. No one would dare lay a finger on her in fear of the bear of a man that followed her around. Darion, always watching, never questioning.

After a few more moments of walking- a past time she enjoyed- Marylean finally came upon her destination. She walked the few steps up to the door and knocked.

"You the Miss with the sun and snakes?" She looked down to find a small dirty little, barefooted boy had opened the door slightly; arching an eyebrow at his description of her. Marylean had been called a lot of things in her life, but this was by far the funniest.

"Why don't you let me in and we'll find out?" she said, trying her damnest to suppress a small laugh. He regarded her with an apprehensive, yet curious, expression.

"Nanna says I should't talk to no strangers." She bowed down to his eye level before sticking out her hand. Marylean knew full well how commoners were raised, from a small age, to be weary of strangers. They, herself and Rhayna, even more so.

"Allow me the courtesy of introducing myself then, young Lord. I'm Marylean." He shook her hand and made it clear that she had won his trust.

"I don't want to be no stanky lord, I want to be a knight," he said with as he turned up his nose, at the unappealing proposition. Marylean stood straight and laid one hand on her heart in mock horror, too happy to play pretend with the boy.

"Oh, forgive my folly Ser Knight, surely you can find it in your heart to help a damsel in distress to find her way to Nanna Margot, especially one who is not a stranger." The boy had perched up at that before he took her hand and dragged her inside.

"Sure can do missus, in here," he said, clearly pleased at his new title. Marylean smiled as she contemplated it. Even at a young age men were fickle, a few well placed words and stroking of their ego and they'll do your bidding without second thought. The power, however small it may be at this moment, made her feel a bit bigger, prouder.

He led her past a small kitchen area were hay was thrown on the floor in a corner, covered by a lone blanket, towards another barren room.

"Nanna, the missus you told me about is here, I go play now. Bye mis Mary!" The last was called as an afterthought, the front door already closing at his departure.

She glanced around the small sparsely furnished room. Another straw bed was in the corner to her left, with an old table to her right. In front of the small window, an old rickety chair stood, an even older woman occupying it.

Darkness engulfed the space creating an eerie sense of doom, but then again, the woman had known darkness for most of her life.

"There is only one person that smells like vanilla that would dare put their feet in this place," Nanna Margot's old voice croaked, a toothless smile making the map of wrinkles on her face more prominent. "Welcome back sunshine."

Marylean fell to her knees in front Nanna Margot, kissing her crooked hands and looked up into eyes that saw nothing yet looked at everything. It had been too long since she had gazed into those unseeing eyes and she suddenly felt ashamed after her power high a few moments prior. Sometimes Marylean found that she had problems distinguishing who she truly blamed for her family's demise and took her hatred out on whoever was closest.

"I'm back Nanna and I brought some goods with me, bread, blankets, dried meats, herbs. It is not much but..." she said. Gone was the poised woman from earlier, instead a child sat crushed by the hand of fate.

"Hush now child and let me look at you in silence. Ah, yes you've grown more beautiful I see." For once Marylean didn't feel the darkness creep up on her at that statement, and welcomed the old woman's touch with a content smile on her face.

"Now, tell Nanna what you've been up to the past two years." Marylean stood up and went to the basket to retrieve the flagon of wine before giving it to Nanna Margot and let her guard down, for the first time since her arrival.

She spoke as she walked around completing mundane tasks; sweeping, unpacking the basket of goods and lighting a candle she found under the table. She told Nanna about the Summer Isles, Lady Sand's whirlwind marriage with a wealthy old trader Barson Mayor who died a week following their union, leaving them with all his riches- a tragedy indeed. She had met Nanna Margot, an old kitchen maid, whilst working in The Red Keep.

Nanna knew they were running and hiding, but from who, she knew not and had never asked. Afterwards Marylean sat at the edge of the desk, basking in contended silence. Eddard Stark had been taken captive a few days ago and rumour had it that his son refused to bend the knee. She smirked at that, happy at the impending doom that hung over the Stark Lord's head.

Soon, very soon a Targaryen would sit on that throne once more. Nanna's gaze seemed to burn through Mary at that point and for a moment she was worried that the woman had seen her thoughts.

"It is curious how the high Lords are rising up against each other is it not, Nanna?" Marylean began once again. Nanna Margot was a wise woman and had told her many things since they'd met.

"Yes, it is, sunshine. The war has begun, with winter close at it's heels." Marylean was silent after that for a moment, remembering frightening tales told to her by Nanna of the last winter.

"Many a great man has sat upon that throne, Sunshine, only to be consumed by power. The time has come for a new dynasty to be forged, lest we survive the coming darkness," Nanna Margot said in a voice void of all emotion. Marylean blanched as fear suddenly gripped her. She knew that voice, knew what the glassy expression on the old woman's face meant and she didn't like the foreshadowing one bit.


	5. Chapter 4

_"Winter is coming." - Eddard Stark_

 _ **Chapter 4: Prophecies**_

 **Varys**

The days following her visit to Nanna Margot had been tedious and bland. What they had spoken about however, seemed to be an ever present whisper in the back of her mind. The Targaryen dynasty had to rise to power again, the Martells with them. It was that way that Varys found her, brow furrowed in contemplation as she sat on the desk.

The inn where he requested the meet -Golden Crown- was situated in King's Landing itself, near the Old Gate where it would be less suspicious for him to be found. The girl had grown a lot in the two summers he had last seen her he noted, her figure had become more womanly and the lingering childlikeness had given way to maturity.

"Princess Marylean. It has been a long time," he greeted her formally as he would address any royal.

Marylean had heard the door open and close, yet refused to look up before the Lord of Whispers spoke. "Lord Varys, still the only person here who would dare call me that. I see the Gods had yet to bless you with hair."

The Master of Whispers stood before her in all his robed glory, arms folded, covered by sleeves. "And the Gods had yet to bless you with a guard for your mouth, Princess."

She arched an eyebrow, a slight smirk playing about her rose coloured lips."I learned from the best, my Lord."

He walked up to her and took one of her slender hands in his, placing a kiss upon it. "We have a myriad of matters that needs to be discussed, Princess."

"Indeed we do, my Lord. Wine?"

Varys shook his head as he sat in a chair, facing Marylean as she was still perched on the desk."There has been rumours regarding the King's children," Varys began, gauging her reaction.

"Usurper, my Lord, and we both know those are not rumours." Although her face remained impassive, her biting tone betrayed her true feelings; anger and hate held by a thin thread. They continued their discussion as such, Marylean delivering snide remarks wherever the Baratheons and more importantly Robert was mentioned, while Varys asked about her travels. Birds didn't always return after all.

"The Targaryens in Essos have caused quite the stir recently, I find it rather peculiar that you have not joined them, Princess." Marylean watched the man intently, trying to read his true intent. Surely he knew about their impromptu detour before their return to King's Landing.

"Yes, well, I didn't agree to Visereys' terms in ridding the realm of half blooded Targaryens." Varys didn't prod further. He knew after all, about the marriage proposal. The boy was thinking with his dick and now that he saw her, he could clearly see why. "A shame I'm sure, they would be welcomed allies."

"I have Dorne backing me, my Lord. They have kept me secret all these years." With those words Marylean stood and made for the door, only to stop and glance at the robed man once more.

"I would advise you to pick a side, my Lord. The separation of the pack has begun, the war is upon us."

The cold crept upon Varys the moment the Princess had departed. He stood and glanced at the spot she had occupied but moments before. Stories of a hazel eyed child from a few summers prior seemed to be turning into a prophecy.

 **Marylean**

The sun hung low in the sky as Marylean departed, an orange tinge cast upon the lands. She had ventured out alone this time as Darion had left them temporarily after her return from Flea Bottom. In truth, speaking to the higher lord's that knew who she was, affirmed that she had at least control over some things; what she let them see being the most prominent.

The visit left her irritable and the drunken carriage driver's singing certainly did not help her mood. With a sigh, she sat back against the hay bales and mentally started ticking off all the preparations that had to be made: send a letter to Dorne, informing them of the course of action that needed to be taken. Rhayna would see to that, her older friend had insisted on delivering it and returning to the arms of her lover.

Lady Mayor had spoken about other Targaryen loyalists to be rallied, but most of all, Marylean wanted the night to end with a hot bath in scented oils, talking about nonsensical things.

Shouts and screams filled the air, thickened by smoke as they arrived in Rosby. "Ya damn well sure to be stayin' ere miss?" The man said, voice muffled by his cloth covered hand, as they came to an abrupt halt. "I ain't goin' no further. Those are the royal guards, be roamin' about. Best get leavin', oi, miss, payment, oi!".

Marylean didn't look back at the disgruntled man, shouting after her as she made for the square where the commoners gathered. Curiosity and fear fueling her fire.

Serves him right for causing her ears to nearly bleed from his atrocious singing. She pulled her now clean red cloak further against her as she pushed to get to the front, her hood already drawn up, obscuring most of her face. Her stomach dropped and blood ran cold at the sight that awaited her.

Lannister guards were in the center of the chaotic square, swords drawn and helms removed. Jagged pieces of furniture created a circle around a woman, broken and beaten, tied to a pole of a two story dwelling. At once Marylean recognized the bronze skin and raven hair. Daena. A man stood next to her, knife at her throat, as he spoke for all to hear.

"This woman is harboring a criminal, a long lost Targaryen cunt. Witness, people of Rosby, her punishment for crimes against the crown and know that any accomplices will be met with the same fate!" His voice boomed as he spoke, silencing all spectators. A man, baring a flaming torch had sidled up to him at this point, mouth pulled into a cruel sneer as he violated the woman with his free hands.

Marylean wanted to scream, shout out, but found that all thoughts of help had suddenly fled her. Fear rooted her on the spot and memories suddenly flashed before her eyes: her and Rhayna as young children, Daena telling them to keep quiet under the small bed as three men came into their small establishment in Pentos. She had been seven name days old, when they had fallen on harsher times. Coin was little and Daena had borrowed from the wrong person.

He, coupled with two of his men, had broken into their cottage early that morning. Daena had barely had enough time to shove Rhayna and herself underneath the straw bed and tell them to be quiet in a shaky voice before they had came in.

Even though she had been young, she could still remember as clear as day, how those men had leered at Daena. Crying, she and Rhayna had silenced one another. The bed had sunken in at some stage and they'd had to flatten themselves on the floor. Tearing of clothes could be heard as the men laughed harshly and asked where the children were. Daena did not answer them. Although she had not known at that stage the gravity of the situation, she did remember that it had been the first time she could remember what true fear was.

Darion, at that time still just a scary bear, had suddenly appeared at the doorway. That was also the first time Marylean had witnessed a real sword fight. The three men had not stand a chance against him and were slain quickly. Shaking and smelling foul, Rhayna and Marylean had crawled out from under the bed when Darion had left with the three bodies, only to find Daena naked upon the sheets. Rhayna had covered her mother and that night, after Darion had returned, they all slept on the floor, huddled close to each other.

"Daena Sand, answer this question and we shall end your suffering. Where is Marylean Targaryen?" The man leered as he punched the defenseless woman once more.

A gurgled laugh escaped Daena's mouth as she spat up blood. She was weak, were it not for the ropes holding her fast, she would've surely been a crumpled heap.

"Go fuck yourself!" Even from the distance, Marylean could hear her raspy voice heave as she stood, shell shocked and baring witness to the Lannister's roar. A cruel laugh escaped the booming man's mouth as he harshly grabbed Daena by her right ear and cut it off.

The anguished scream that followed propelled Marylean to take action and push through. But before she could even take the first a step, a bear of a man appeared at her side, gripping her right wrist in a vice as he stared on, face impassive. The violator lowered the flames towards the circle of broken furniture.

"Step forward Marylean Targaryen, or watch as we burn this whore," he screamed as he scanned over the spectators intently.

Darion's grip on her arm became harsher, bruising. At this point Marylean wasn't sure whether it was to keep her back or himself. She did not care. Daena's eyes seemed to find hers then and with a softness that could only pass between mother and child, they held her in her spot as she bared witness to her guardian's bloody smile.

"Run!" Those last words were screamed as the woman was engulfed in flames, Lannister's tearing down the bystanders, and propelled the heartbroken princess and her companion into action as they made haste back to Rostine Inn.

...

The streets of Rosby had been a massacre. Lannister guards had pillaged and raided homes and markets in search for the fugitive, and a lot of commoners fell victim to their lashing swords and hateful fists. Atop the hill, a few leagues away, a man wrought with sadness and a beauty distorted by grief was standing, the flames of the burned town reflecting in his eyes.

"Dorne would be too obvious for a party of three and the Lannister and Baratheon forces are too strong to fend off presently. Rhayna will have no problem delivering the news and what the best course of action would be. We'll march to the winter wastelands."

The voice that spoke was eerily quiet, yet haunting. Darion did not deliver a verbal response, only turned the horse around, the princess following.

 **Robb**

The grey light of the Northern sun illuminated the clearing with its murky glow. The harsh sound of steel against steel and the sickening sweet melody of steel placing a harsh kiss upon flesh filled the space as the Northern army continued with its unrelenting attack.

The metallic scent of spilled blood filled the air as yet another Lannister fell victim to the Young Wolf's fury. His eyes quickly skimmed the battlefield around him, noting that the numbers of the foe were dwindling. His hand tightened around the hilt of his sword as he met his attacker, almost completely severing his head and clashed against another instantly.

What happened next in this war depended on this moment. That was the thought Robb had carried onto the field with him and that was the thought in his head as he brought low another Lannister. Robb lifted his arms, drawing his sword back before he swung, meeting his next opponents blow with precision.

His father had always told him that a large part of how successful you were in combat was decided by your awareness of what was happening around you, but this wasn't just combat; this battle could change the tides and that kept Robb ever aware of where the Kingslayer was. As he parried the next blow his opponent threw at him, he knew victory was theirs.

Hardly a Lannister man was still standing, their slain bodies soiling the ground in a scarlet red. Robb wasn't surprised to see that all the stories he'd been told of Jaime Lannister's prowess on the battlefield were true. The man fought without fear as if he had nothing to lose and everything to gain.

Alas, the Lion's relentlessness proved futile as he was bound and taken prisoner. Robb looked at Grey Wind at his side, looking proud and undefeated before mounting his alabaster horse and taking his ride of victory back to camp. A sliver of hope had gripped his heart. With the capture of the Queen's brother he was one step closer to reuniting the pack.


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5: Betrayals**

 _"I'd let his whole khalasar fuck you if need be"- Viserys_

 **Marylean**

Darkness enveloped the sky, marking the end of yet another day in the battle torn region of the Riverlands. Deep in the heart of the lands, a few leagues North East from Riverrun and South of the Red Fork, the Kneeling Man Inn was situated.

The dilapidated wooden building served as proof that the battles weighed heavily upon the common people; a thatched roof provided little cover from the elements and the ratty, worn down clothes of the even more worn out Innkeeper, ensured that the price for a night's stay cost little to no coin.

Upon entering their room at the back of the building, Marylean blanched at the sudden wave of unwanted memories that attacked her. The space was compact, barely big enough for the two small beds on opposite ends of an otherwise barren room; it reminded her too much of her life long gone, in Essos, on the run from anyone that resembled a person from Westeros.

These quarters would've been what could only be described as heaven compared to the numerous shitholes that she had lived in. Sometimes in the stables with the animals, others fighting against the elements. All those encounters had found her with Rhayna, huddled close to Daena, the only mother figure she had ever known.

Now, she only had Darion as a companion, a man that had brute strength, but was prone to drinking. He had said nothing after two days of riding, no matter her attempts at conversation and provided no comfort after their witness of a grueling massacre, but he had gotten them this far North without anyone detecting them For that she should be thankful, but found that for the time being only sorrow remained.

Harsh thumps became louder with each step he took, before he squeezed through the door with one lonesome trunk that carried her most important possessions; letters, a dress, herbs and a few pieces of jewelry to be bartered as they traveled. With a heave he threw the mostly empty trunk on the bed, watched as it fell, before he sank low on it and ran a hand through his black and white speckled beard, clearly defeated.

With soft, cautionary steps she walked towards the trunk, picked it up from the dirty wooden floor and set it down on the foot of her bed.

"There's a brothel nearby."

When he spoke his voice was gruff from disuse. She glanced at him before she reached into the trunk and took out a small golden bangle and an earring.

"This should cover it, have the Innkeeper send a bottle of wine when you pass him." Darion nodded to her as he passed and took the bangle and earring with him. After he had closed the door Marylean sank down on the bed, bone weary and beyond tired.

They had a traitor in their midst, of that she was certain. Daena would've never been found out otherwise, but she was tired, too tired to ponder with a clear head who the rat was that had outed them. Eddard Stark immediately came to mind. The Northern Lord had absolutely no reason to protect them and he had been taken captive. It wouldn't be too far-fetched to believe that he had traded their whereabouts in order to gain freedom once more. It would've been what she would do.

In truth, her contempt for the Starks stemmed from a deep seated hatred of a feud older than she herself and had simmered over the years, ready to erupt at any given second.

If it weren't for a Stark bitch that had seduced her father Rhaegar, the late Baratheon drunk wouldn't have had a reason to start a war. Her mother and brother wouldn't have been brutally murdered along with most of the Targaryens.

She wouldn't have had to run from a senile uncle who sold his sister for an army and would either see her as his wife or have her head on a pike in order to 'purify' the Targaryen bloodline. She wouldn't have to stay away from Dorne, a city close to her heart, in fear of being caught. She wouldn't have had to travel to the barren white wastelands of the cold North to the Wall where she still had family.

A sigh escaped her as the numerous fantasies of "what could have been" swirled through her mind, like the sea on a stormy night. When her head hit the old, dusty pillow, sleep claimed her, in all its hellish glory.

It was a few hours later when Darion came stumbling into the room, reeking of whores and drink. The sun had yet to rise, but Marylean was wide awake, ushering the brute into his bed. It was not the first time something like this had happened.

Usually such an occurrence walked hand in hand with their travels, but it was the first time that Marylean found herself having to take care of the man.

"There is no way you'll sleep past noon. When the sun comes out, we'll move out." Marylean huffed in irritation as she finally managed to divest him of his boots and shirt.

"And don't you for one moment think that I'll be quiet after I had to put up with this. It will serve you well to remember a pounding headache when you frequent another brothel. Damn fool." Marylean complained to his snoring form. She was about to turn around, intent on laying down again when she saw it; a small piece of paper that had no doubt escaped from his person.

Gingerly she picked it up, not caring that she broached his personal, private life in opening it as curiosity won over.

"Keep eyes and ears to the ground, shadow the sun. Whisper upon the return".

Varys. She knew that writing as well as she knew her name and those cryptic words couldn't have been clearer, even if someone bellowed it from a blow horn. Darion and Varys were corresponding, probably had been even before they found him, a semi-corpse near their door.

The knife in her stomach twisted as everything suddenly came to light; the reason why he had been their shadow all these years and the reason they were outed. Varys had been all too eager to support her uncle and aunt in Essos and had no doubt chosen their side. Darion was a bird and a spineless drunk who had betrayed Daena.

Bile rose in her throat and she immediately covered her mouth. Stabbed in the back by the man that had protected them all these years, because she refused to dance to the whims of a Spider.

She glanced at the snoring fox again and steeled her heart against any trace of sadness and compassion she might have had. Anger she knew well and she could feel it burning in the pit of her belly, ready to erupt at any moment. The knife at his belt glimmered in the moonlight, shiny, new and expensive by the looks of it - price paid for a life that ended too soon.

...

It was well past midday, approaching dawn when they stopped for a rest. The denseness of the forest south of the Blue Fork had proved challenging to travel swiftly, but in the wake of stumbling upon Lannister survivors, they opted to forgo the Kingsroad. Darion had immediately turned their horse around and opted for the thick foliage to conceal them when he caught wind of the news and after a day of mostly walking, they had succumbed to their bodies' desire; rest for themselves and the horse near a small river.

Marylean watched the man, sitting opposite from where she was leaning against the bark, with mirth in her hazel eyes as he drank from his flagon. "It is not an easy feat to deceive someone born into deception, Darion." The man grunted as she spoke, clearly unimpressed by her ramblings as he took another long swig.

"Which is why I have to commend you on your ability to live in virtual silence for more than a decade. I always thought you to be dumb, but that is not the case, is it?" He glanced at her again, a dawning realization appearing in his eyes, staying still and frozen with his flagon held halfway to his mouth. Marylean slowly walked towards him, eyebrow arched and watching with cold eyes.

"Your fatal mistake was keeping that letter Darion, and thinking that you can outsmart a girl born into lies. Did you reveal Daena because she knew you were a bird for the Spider? Or because he gave the order? More than likely the latter given the shiny new blade on your person. See, you are a simple creature, always with your flagon at hand. I suppose I'll never know why you kept me alive though."

Marylean crouched in front of him as she watched his eyes go wider, hands flying to his neck and chest as he struggled to gulp in precious air. "I hope you enjoyed that drink, Rat, for it will be your last one."

She smirked as she watched his panicked eyes pleading with her. She reached towards his belt and took the hilt of his shiny new knife and tucked it into her boot, before she stood up and looked down at him. "Enjoy hell, you spineless swine, for you seemed to have enjoyed Wolf's bane quite a lot."

With a flourish, she turned around towards the horse, abandoning all rational thought as the thick forest welcoming her with open arms.

 **Robb**

Robb watched the sun as it cast a golden glow over the Riverlands, Grey Wind at his side. He had come to the edge of camp away from the talks of battle and maps that taunted him, to clear his head.

As always his thoughts wandered to his late father, the man he will always look up to even if he was stolen from them by the rule of a right royal prick, and wondered if he would agree with the course of action he had taken. He had sent more than 2000 men to their deaths knowingly seven days prior. Fathers, brothers, cousins and children, all corpses for the capture of one man.

He hated Jaime Lannister all the more for that and had to steel himself a few times not to rise the sword of justice to the Kingslayer's neck. The fact that he still hadn't caught wind of his sisters' well-being had caused dread to settle well into his bones; as if it had been a lost child returning home. Bran and Rickon were too young to run a castle and a region all by themselves, and he felt ashamed for thrusting such a big responsibility upon the shoulders of his crippled brother.

If only Jon had been there. Jon would've excelled at running the castle, but he knew that was foolish thoughts. Jon would've been here, at his side, calling him out on wrong decisions and served as the voice of reason when he felt like he was losing himself. It had happened, amidst battle, the first taste of blood and a frenzy started. Jon would know how to tame the beast that was fighting its way to the surface and be the shoulder he needed to lean on when his burdens became too much, especially in the midsts of losing their father.

The news that had brought him to his knees had arrived exactly two days ago. Turmoil, defeat, every single emotion had warred inside him and forced him to shed the last sliver of innocence and boyhood. He was a man now, sworn protector of his family, with ice in his veins, bound by honour: he will kill every Lannister. The silly dreams he had been having certainly did not have a place in this stark, naked reality of brutal injustice.

The rustling of leaves broke him from the dangerous path his thoughts had wandered on. A tall young man with sandy brown hair appeared at his side and looked out at the golden landscape, a mischievous glint, concealing the sadness in his eyes.

"If you stay like that long enough, no girl would ever touch you again, whether a lord or not. Celibate for the rest of your life!" Robb turned his head to Theon and inspected his face, noticing a deep red hand print upon his left cheek.

"It would seem as if you will also venture into the life of an eunuch," Robb said as he eyed the angry red flesh.

A scowl appeared upon his friends face as he cradled his cheek, before his eyes shone again. "Maybe a crazy cunt is just what you need to get your head out of your arse. Come with me, I have a present for you."

The feeling of dread intensified as he followed his friend through camp. The woman who had raised her hand to his friend did not came off unscathed he knew and he prepared himself for the worst as he entered his tent, Grey Wind and Theon close at his heels.

The ice in his veins seemed to run even colder as he was met with the sight before him.

In the middle of a tent, hands tied to the pole behind her back, a woman sat, dark golden hair in disarray. Her slim arms were bare, the red dress clearly not a northern style, skin a few shades darker than the pale Northerners'.

"Found this beauty while hunting. Put up quite a fight, might I add. She had a trunk with her, but I didn't find anything of import. The Lannister's really did get their asses handed to them if they are sending cunts to do their spying," Theon said as he kneeled next to the girl on the ground and forced her head in his direction. Her face still shadowed by a dark golden brown waterfall, kept her response a mystery.

The smirk on Theon's face grew wider as he looked at Robb once more, groping at her harshly. "Spitfire. Would be one hell of a ride if you want her."

"Enough."

The command he gave was barely above a whisper, but it carried enough warning to assert his authority. Smirk gone Theon stood, forcing the girl to stand as well, before he took his place at Robb's side. She definitely fitted the posture of a Lannister he noted, haughty and regal, despite her slight frame.

Distaste immediately took refuge in his stomach as he came to a stop in front of her, head still cast downwards. "Look at me."He commanded in a low voice.

At first he thought she hadn't heard him, but then her head rose. The purple bruises that marred her delicate face did nothing to distract from her obvious beauty. She looked at him head on, and she did not look like a person defeated, but like someone with a clear mission.

A small pointed nose led to small rosy lips with a prominent bow, pressed tightly together. His eyes were immediately drawn down, past her slender neck and fine collar bones, to her rapidly rising chest as Grey Wind emitted a low growl.

"I will not be compromised by you Northman and I'd advise you take me to the Lord of this establishment immediately, since your friend is too incompetent to understand what I'm saying," came a surprisingly clear voice, devoid of any trace of fear. The only thing betraying her was her glancing at Grey Wind every so often. At once Robb glanced at her face again, a spy who did not know who he was. Something didn't add up.

"I am Lord Stark, son of the late Eddard Stark and warden in the North. Who are you and why do you demand to speak with me?"

Her already large eyes flickered to the tent flaps as another person took residence inside.

"Robb, what is this, who is she?" He spared a glance at his mother who walked towards him, weighed down by grief, Theon slipping away and leaving them with the girl.

"Marylean Targaryen, Princess of the Seven Kingdoms, Lady Stark." He saw recognition cross his mother's face as the girl spoke, even tied up she still had the gall to speak out of turn.

Anger flashed in his eyes when he heard that name. She was the reason his father was in the dungeons in the capitol. If Eddard hadn't compromised his safety to help her, his father could've been back, alive.

"Why are you-"

"Untie the girl Robb, let us speak in the morning." Robb glanced at his mother then back at the girl. Catelyn Stark, the strongest woman he knew, pleaded with him. Swiftly he turned and cut her bonds, uncaring of the rope burns on her wrists.

"She can bathe, Mother, but I want her back in this tent before the sun has completely set. We will decide what to do with her at the counsel meeting later tonight."

Having said those last words, he stormed out of the tent, Grey Wind close behind. Thunder rumbled in the distance as he went to seek solace in the woods.


	7. Chapter 6

**A/N: thanks to everyone who has read.**  
 **Roheline: your ship is at the harbor;)**  
 **PlumCrazyPurple: thanks for all the support, can't wait for your update.**

 _ **Chapter 6: The King in the North**_

 _"The North remembers"- Wyman Manderly_.

 **Marylean**

A commotion could be heard outside of the young Warlord's tent. News of the Lost Princess had traveled throughout the camp swiftly; accompanied by numerous accounts of stories heard over the years, turning even the most fearsome warriors into gossip mongers. Inside a young woman stood, emotions held tightly by a thin thread, as she tried to make sense of the past several hours. She shouldn't have gone traipsing through the bloody woods alone, but when realization struck, it had already been too late; the path she had followed had lead her straight into the jaws of the wolf. The party of five men, baring the unmistakable Stark, direwolf sigil, had spotted her when she had tried to cross the river and had descended all at once. The next thing she knew a barbarian had tied her to a pole in a bloody tent and had refused her request to speak with the Stark Lord. Or so she had thought.

The tall, auburn haired Northman had not been what she expected. All her life the young Lords she had cast a glance upon had been impeccably dressed in the finest of clothing, not a hair out of place, faces as smooth as a babe's bottom. Donned in a dark cloak, breaches and a leather jerkin, The Warden of the North gave the impression that he lacked the ability to see color. His complete disregard of personal space coupled with the way his eyes had lingered on her chest had her thinking that he lacked proper etiquette as well. His hair was unkempt and followed the line of his jaw and upper lip. His pallor was dull and white and had her believing that the ice in the Starks was not restricted to just their veins. The physical similarities between Robb and his father were basically non-existent, the Tully genes were strong, but she had a fleeting thought that personality wise he took after Eddard's side of the coin. Robb Stark was wild, untamed a man that she had to be careful with.

A low growl broke her out of her reverie and turned her attention to the large animal that sat vigilant at the tent flaps. The Northman had left the wolf after his departure, no doubt to ensure that she did not resort to assaulting his mother or worse. The woman in question, Lady Stark, had been bustling about the last couple of minutes, ordering people around. A modest sized tub had been readied at the foot of a bed laden with furs, a large table with numerous figures and papers stood off to the side. The contents of her trunk laid strewn across the floor; jewelry, herbs and a now ruined dress. She thanked the gods that she had the foresight to sew the letters into the trunk itself, albeit haphazardly since her knowledge only went as far as stitches, as she kneeled on the floor and gathered her belongings. Only one piece went unaccounted for: a necklace that her mother had given her when Daena had fled from the Lannister's roar. She had taken it off during her journey North, afraid that it didn't fit with their ruse of being commoners. Now the last evidence she had of her mother's unconditional love and Daena's fight for survival was lost; she became frantic in her search, uncaring of the pitiful azure gaze on her. Marylean could feel her hope dissipating with each second that passed, tears threatening to spill, when the ends of a dark dress entered her vision.

"Is this what you've been looking for, girl?" The words were spoken softly and prompted Marylean to rise at once. Before her, Lady Stark stood, holding out a fine, golden chain from which the Martell sigil hung. She nodded furiously, afraid of using her voice, took the necklace offered to her and clutched it tightly to her chest. "Come, let us get you out of this dress and into the water. You must be freezing." She found herself once again surprised when the red haired, older woman with the sad eyes did not leave her alone, instead helping her out of her ruined garments and into the steaming water. She did not bathe herself, nor did the servants, Lady Stark took on the task; using a rag to gently scrub off all the dirt, grime and blood.  
"My late husband wrote about you in his last letter. To say that my son was not impressed that his father stayed to, partially, keep an eye out for you would be an understatement. As you know, a meeting is to be held tonight were your fate would be decided. I cannot guarantee your safety, but if you want a chance to explain yourself, you'll have to tell me everything. I will vouch for you."

There was something about being unclothed that made all pretenses disappear, Marylean found. For as she sat in the tub, a woman that had no reason to be kind to her, showed her mercy, and just as she had bared her flesh, she bared her tale.

"We - my guardian Daena, her daughter Rhayna and our protector, Darion- came back here from the Summer Isles after news reached our ears of Jon Arryn's untimely demise. Lady Daena had said the time for my revelation was near, Dorne supporting our claim. We were to remain in hiding until different opponents tired one another out, when Lord Stark found us and warned that no good would come with our presence. We stayed, gathering intel of what transpired while we were away. After he was taken, the Lannisters somehow caught wind of our presence which led to the Slaughter of Rosby, Daena she-" her voice caught at that part as the grotesque images came to mind. Lady Stark gestured for her to submit her head underneath the water to rinse out any excess soap, which she obliged to.

"We ran, Darion and I, back to were we had been staying and gathered what we could. Dorne would've been the most obvious choice for us to hide and acquiring passage by ship in King's Landing would've been to much of a risk. There is family at the Wall still, I know. Deciding it was the safest option we started traveling North when I found that Darion had been the one who had betrayed us. Wolfsbane got mixed with his drink and I continued on. It was whilst crossing the river when your son's men found me." A few tears had slipped out as the gravity of the situation finally sunk in. Up until now, she had been to busy, running, planning and surviving, that she barely had time to stop and take everything in. Saying it all out loud had her realizing that she was alone, there was no guarantee that Rhayna had made it safely to Dorne, only hope. The water in the tub became difficult to see and soon her whole vision was obscured as sobs wrecked her body. Arms embraced her and she buried her face in a pillow of scarlet locks as she cried.

After a while she finally managed to gain control of her emotions once more and noticed that the large wolf now laid closer to the tub. A small furrow appeared between Lady Catelyn's brows before she voiced her concern "You said that you returned to King's Landing?" Her tone was not accusing, rather puzzled.

Marylean nodded and drew her legs up before she leaned back in the water, soothed by it's heat and the oils, before she continued with her story, omitting a few parts. She told her of how they had been in King's Landing for a year following the Baratheon rule before Eddard found them and sent them off to Essos. She told her of how they had lived there- from what she can remember as a child- and how Darion came to be a part of their lives. She told her how they visited Dorne when she had turned 8 name days and that they stayed there for 3 summers before they left for King's Landing. She recounted the time they spent there, 4 years, before they traveled to the Summer Isles. The tales she told were of trivial things, mishaps, how she learned of herbs and her first time sleeping in a bed. Her and Rhayna's miss adventures as children as well as how the only sewing experience she had, was that of medical reasons.

"Why did you leave King's Landing when you returned?"

 **Catelyn**

Catelyn watched as a darkness seemed to cross over the young girl's eyes when she inquired that, and almost wished she had kept quiet. For there had been a vibrancy when the girl spoke of happier times, a lust for life that she found seldom. Still on her knees, next to the tub, she took the necklace out of the princess' hands and clasped it around her slender, black and blue neck. All in all, the damage that her late husband's ward had done was not as bad as she expected when she first heard the news that he had captured a supposed Lannister spy. That boy's total disregard for women and honour was appalling.

Presently, the girl sported a bruised cheek from where she had undoubtedly been slapped and a split in her lip. There were bruises on her arms, but the worst that she could see where the rope burns on her wrists. Noting the way that the girl had refrained from getting her hands wet, it seemed that they hurt the most to. She wet a rag before she cautiously took her wrists in her hands and dabbed at the wounds. A small hiss could be heard followed by a wince, but the girl did not complain.

"I've learned Lady Stark that what men want, they'll have even at the expense of a child bent over a table. The Red Keep has no room for innocence." Catelyn had stilled her self-appointed task of cleaning up the girl at that. She knew the world was a cruel place, had lived through a war and lost her first betrothed only to wed his younger brother and raise their child alone for 2 years. To hear what had happened to the young girl before her, in a place that was meant to be her home, had her worries for her two daughter's increasing. Even if she had tried to soften the blow with carefully chosen words, the just of it remained the same. In the North her husband would've dealt with the man who took a woman, not to mention child, against their will swiftly and she found herself wishing the worst upon that criminal.

"You can stand now child." Not knowing how to respond to Marylean's revelation, Catelyn opted to shift their focus to something else as she went to fetch the towel laid out on her son's bed. When she turned back to the tub, she found the Princess stood, unashamed of her state of undress it seemed, and was once again reminded of what a nasty hand fate had dealt the woman. She let her dry in peace before she returned with a shift and helped her into it. The garment sat oddly on her, to long at the arms and dragging on the floor, yet tight at her chest.

Catelyn lead her over to the chair at the desk, taking the brush she had brought with her, as she started to work out the tangles in Marylean's dark tresses. "I heard that your father's sister and brother were also exiled to Essos." Catelyn began as she ran the brush through Marylean's hair.

"We went there before we came back to King's Landing. My uncle expressed his desire to either have me as his wife or have me on a spike. The terms were un-agreeable and we stole away in the dead of night on The Silent Maiden."

A silence followed after that, both lost in their thoughts as Catelyn braided her hair as she had done for her daughters numerous times in the past. She missed her children fiercely and she knew that Robb would not appreciate being mothered anymore. Her son was a man now, a warlord, whose ferocity in battle had already earned him the name Young Wolf. She had relished in this time, having a to take care of someone, even if just to remind her of simpler times.

"You have been kind to me Lady Stark, something I am gobsmacked by, which is why I feel I owe you this curtsy; I will not hesitate to do what need's be for the sake of survival. Sacrifices made for me since I was a babe will not be in vain."

There it is, Catelyn thought. The fire she had seen in the girl's eyes when she had spoken to Robb. The underlying threat was clear; she had taken the life of a man she had known all her life, a stranger's was nothing in comparison.

"Just as I will not hesitate to do what need's be for my son to survive."

 **Robb**

Darkness had descended once more, a lover to the silver stars and moon that hung low in the sky met by a few storm clouds, casting a tranquility upon the camp. Inside the ruins of a small, old stone building at the far edge of camp, a furious battle of opinions took place, each Northern Lord wanting their opinion to be stated and heard, their voices silenced to the outside world by a rain that fell sporadically, a regular occurrence in the Riverlands. A tarp served as a roof, keeping the occupants dry as a large fire crackled in its brazier, casting an orange glow upon the battle hardened Northeners. A large, Stark banner lined the entry way as candles lined the table the Lord's sat at, some with Ladies from their houses, given that they were near by.

Robb sat at the head of the meeting, listening intently to everyone. Beside him, to the right his mother sat silent as a mouse, as she sipped from her cup, head held high. After he had collected her from his tent, he bade Grey Wind to stay with the prisoner, a guard was posted as well. All his Lady mother had told him was that the girl was to stay here, under their protection for as long as need be. In all honesty, the reaction he had gotten from her was not what he had expected. Instead of hate, he discovered that she held a certain sympathy for the girl that had condemned his father to death.

"The correct course of action is clear." A middle aged man with a few grey hairs stated. "Pledge fealty to King Renly hi-"

"Renly is not the King." Robb interjected, exasperated. His patience with the men was wearing thin. The debate had begun a while ago and an agreement had yet to be reached.

"Pledge fealty to King Joffrey my Lord, you surely cannot mean to do that. He had condemned your father to death!" The same man exclaimed and he saw his mother tense beside him.

"Bran cannot become Lord before I, just as Renly cannot become King before Stannis." When he spoke, he used the same tone of voice he had used when speaking to Theon, his Robb-the-Lord voice as Bran would say.

A terse silence followed, men casting glances around the room, ready to see who would voice what they were all thinking. The same man that had spoke before, rose to the challenge again. "Declare us with Stannis, my Lord, is that what you will have us do?."

"Stannis is not right!" Someone else started and the battle to be heard began once again, some Lords even hurling insults at one another. Robb knew that given his age, some men still did not hold respect for him, no matter how many times he had proven himself in battle.

"Silence." Robb exclaimed and all at once the ruse died down, before Lord Umber rose, standing tall and proud as his voice bounced off the Stones in Ruins. Every eye followed him, just as every ear heard, even the crickets fell silent.

"My Lords," The Greatjon spoke as he claimed the floor "here is what I say to these two kings!" He spat at the ground, before he continued. "Renly Baratheon is nothing to me, nor Stannis. Why should they rule over me and mine from some flowery seat in the South? They know nothing of war and the Wolfswood. Even their Gods are wrong! Why shouldn't we rule ourselves again? It was the Dragons we bowed to, and now a Dragon has been brought to her knees in our Lord's tent!."

His words were met with loud cheering and laughs. The Lords were captivated by the truth as Lord Umber spoke and the first time that evening, every Lord seemed to agree. The flames flickered and the fire burned brighter as the morale went up. With a flourish Lord Umber unsheathed his sword and pointed it at Robb. "There sits the only King I mean to bend my knee too! THE KING IN THE NORTH!" He bent the knee at that as he pledged fealty to his King. Robb stood before Lord Umber, stoic and silent.

"Aye, I'll have piece on those terms, they can keep their Red Keep and Iron Chair, the King in the North!" Another Lord cried as he too rose to his feet only to fall to his knees.

"Am I your brother, now and always?" Theon spoke, hand on the hilt of his sword, next to Robb.

"Now and always." Robb agreed with a slow nod, recounting the same pledge he, Theon and Jon had made as children

"My sword is yours, in victory and defeat, form this day until my last day." His friend, nay brother stated. After that all the Lord's seemed to agree as they rose and declared their King with one voice, as one man, in the ruins of a stone building.

Robb looked back at his mother, who had also stood, a proud, yet grim smile upon her face as she walked and came to a stop next to him.

"The floor is yours, My King." She declared in a voice void of emotion before she bowed her head and went back to her seat.

"Rise men, plans still needs to be discussed." His first order as King and he watched the men rise and take their seats again with a new found fervor. They fight for the North now, their families, their lands, their legacy. No more was their march one of revenge, but one of freedom and they relished in it. He was adamant that his first impression of King be not that of a dumbstruck green boy, but that of a man with a purpose.

Their first order of discussion was what their next move will be and it was quickly agreed upon that for the time being it would be best to oppress any Lannister forces from moving further North. Allies needed to be found and at this time the most likely would be Renly and the Greyjoy's, although he was a bit skeptic of the latter. Smaller matters were discussed, were to move next; Riverrun, provisions for men and what they'll need. Smaller towns in the Riverland's will be supported it was decided, given the recent battles that took place here, the people needed all the money they could get.

The closer the meeting came to an end, the darker the omen that crept upon them. Thus far no one had mentioned the late Rhaegar and Elia's child nor what her presence meant for their future.  
An eerily quiet settled over the Lords and Ladies as the fire flickered down. Rain clouds had covered the sky as far as the eye could see at this point, chasing away the tranquility that came with the stars and moon. The soft pitter-patter of raindrops fell relentlessly on their makeshift roof as the wind howled in the distance.

"Recent events have found us with Marylean Targaryen in our camp. According to her, Dorne is backing her claim to the Iron Throne. I say, the girl stays." It was his mother's voice that brought the sensitive subject to light and with it another debate.

"The wench is cursed! Everywhere she goes, death follows, look at what happened to Rosby and shortly after her birth her family was slain!" A potbellied lord exclaimed. A chorus of "Aye's" followed his statement before another lord spoke.

"Give her back to Dorne, form an alliance." The man declared.

"With what? Our King is already betrothed and we all know the Martells hold contempt for the Starks." Another lord stated. Robb contemplated that statement and found that the lord was correct. According to Dorne, it was his aunt, Lyanna Stark that had seduced Rhaegar Targaryen, intent on murdering Elia Martell to claim her title as queen. He doubted that they'd ally themselves with Northerners.

"She is a witch, the girl will bring death upon us all. She had even prophecized the start of the War, I've heard!"

"Kill the Princess of Prophecies!" a shout went out "give her to the Lannisters!" another Lord was heard.

Her reputation preceded her it seemed, as lords recounted the tales of what they had heard.

"Robb, you cannot condemn her to such a fate." His mother hissed close to him. Seeing that it was a debate that could take hours for them to reach an accord he slammed his fist on the table and met Lord Umber's eye.

"I more than anyone, would like to see her gone. Were it not for her foolishness, my father may have still been with us today, but I'll heed Lady Stark's request. The princess is to stay here, she may be of use to us if rumours of a Targaryen uprise in Essos prove to be true." The murmur had simmered down as a decision was made. "The meeting is dismissed, my Lords, I bid you all goodnight." With that, Robb stood and escorted his mother back to her tent. The men left after their King's departure.

...

It was late at night when he returned to his tent, wet and exhausted after the meeting. King in the North, they had called him. He still had trouble wrapping his head around his newly acquired title but he had already felt the weight on his shoulders increase ten fold. After he had bade his mother goodnight in her tent, he had seeked solace at the edge of camp, by the tree that he had ruined his sword upon, to pray to the Old Gods, ask for guidance, strength and patience before he returned back to his quarters. He stood before the flaps now, dismissing the guard that still stood soaked at the entrance, before he went inside.

Candles stood everywhere, their flames burned bright and forced him to cover his eyes momentarily, having not yet adjusted. At the edge of his desk, feet resting on the chair in front of it, the thorn in his side sat: dressed in a shift that was clearly not hers, hair in a long thick braid down her back, reading a book. Grey Wind laid at the foot of his bed and watched her intently even as he rose and came to stand at Robb's side.

He removed his soaked cloak, glad to be gone of the stifling heat as he spoke. "A verdict has been reached."

He watched her intently as she closed the book and rose to her very un-threatening height. The shift that she wore was white, the ends stained brown, while her sleeves were pushed up to her elbows, revealing her bandaged wrists.

"And what is my sentence Northman?" She spoke with contempt, her arms- folded beneath her chest- pushed her tightly laced breasts up even higher and made the necklace she wore rest askew on her chest. He didn't know how she had managed to lure his mother into a false sense of security, but he was adamant that he would not fall victim as well.

"That is King Northman to you Snake." He could've kicked himself for falling for the bait. It was clear that she had meant to rile him up with her total disregard for proper titles.

When Grey Wind shifted at his side, he saw her confidence falter. The girl was scared of the big bad wolf, it seemed. "My men would have you dead or thrown to the Lannisters." he began and although her expression didn't falter again, he could see the fear enter her eyes.

Silence settled between them that appeared to stretch for an eternity. Then, in a matter of seconds, the fear seemed to left her. "You will not kill or harm me, King Stark." She declared with confidence.

"And why is that?"

"Because your father is the one who saved me." At the mention of his father, Robb snapped and closed the distance between them in long strides, before he gripped her upper arms.

"You will not speak about my father again," he began, each word punctuated by a shake "if it weren't for my mother and your possible use for me, I would not hesitate to do as they asked. My father my have saved you but you are in my camp, under my rule and I am not him. Do not test my patience Marylean for you will find that I have none." Fear had entered her eyes tenfold at that stage, and he found a sickly sweet pride upon witnessing it.

The presence of someone else in the tent had him releasing the girl in his hands to find Olyvar, his squire, shifting nervously at the flaps.

"Your mother sent me to come fetch the girl, Your Grace." He stammered.

The Princess didn't seem to need any more encouragement as she followed his squire out of the tent.

His bed beckoned him and, after removing his jerkin and shirt, he fell upon it. That night he did not dream.

A **/N: once again thank you to any and everyone who has read, reviewed, faved and followed. Sincerely hope that you all continue to enjoy this**.


	8. Chapter 8

**SEX!**

 **Now that I have your attention ;) please take note that the previous chapters have been edited and lengthened.**

 _"From this time until the end of time, we are a free and independent kingdom."_

― _Robb Stark_

 _ **Chapter 7. Sins of the Father.**_

 **Marylean**

Hatred stemmed from a feud older than her few years and bloomed deep within her heart as the previous night's events raced to the forefront of her mind.

Hatred for her situation, the Lannisters, Baratheons, Darion. And perhaps the most unexplainable of all, hatred for a dead woman. Lyanna Stark had started all of this. Started a war because of her innate desire to become queen. Daena had told her the stories and when she had visited Dorne, the tales had been confirmed.

Now, she had been taken captive by said bitch's nephew, one who had named himself King. It made her fume. How dare he, the son of a lord, declare himself above her? Granted, she had worked as a maid before, but then it was expected to be deemed an invisible commoner, wished even. The gall that Northman had at declaring himself King while he knew full well that Westeros belonged to her made her seethe.

All Stark's must be like that, power hungry she decided. Even his father had the innate need to exercise his authority over them. Eddard Stark had, from the beginning, condemned her to a life lived in fear: on the run. He could've taken her in, had done with his bastard as well as the barbaric Crab that had tied her up, but no. Instead he had left them to fend for themselves, to forge allies in a place where thieves ruled.

Daena had tried to speak well of him, bless her heart, but Marylean could see through the glass eyed look that always accompanied her guardians eyes when she told tales of the late Stark. His hands were drenched in red and, Marylean decided, his son would pay for his sins just as she had to pay for her father's mistakes.

Forgoing the dangerously reckless path her thoughts had dwindled upon, Marylean released a huff of breath and noticed, transfixed, how smoke seemed to escape her mouth. The morning air was bitingly cold she realized, as she sat in Lady Starks tent, still in only her night dress. Shivering she burrowed more under the lonesome fur she had been given to protect her from the Riverland's wrath.

The tent in itself was relatively vast in size and had been more personalized than the Northman's. A warm bed was sat at the right hand side, covered in warm furs, stacked trunks at the foot of it. A table stood next to said bed with a few belongings; needle and thread, books and other essentials that usually accompanied the fairer sex.

Dresses were neatly laid over the back of a chair, both the colour of death, and were lit up with nearly burnt out flames that had never been blown out the night before.

The owner of the surprisingly homely quarters was nowhere to be seen. When Marylean had woken up that morning from her makeshift bed on the left hand side, it was to be greeted with naught but a pounding in her head and an ache in her wrists. Gingerly she unwrapped the bandages that covered her wounds and winced when she saw it. The flesh was an angry red colour with deep blue and purple bruises already forming. It could be worse though, she decided, and gave a sigh of relief.

After she had been brought here, it was to find that Lady Stark had already made the sleeping arrangements. Catelyn had regaled her with whimsical stories of the royal children, before they had both succumbed to the alluring call of sleep.

A sudden gust of cold air swept in, accompanied with an aroma that made Marylean's stomach grumble and for the first time she realized how hungry she was. Unconsciously she wet her lips and watched the tray laden with breads and what looked like dried meat with a hawk's eye. She did not even see the servant that brought it in but, luckily, she managed to steel herself at primal desire to devour the food brought in.

"I have arranged for us to break our fast here. I can't believe I forgot to have food brought to you last night, with the meeting and everything. It had completely slipped my mind," Lady Stark apologized as she gestured for Marylean to join her at the table where food was laid out.

Suddenly she found herself at a fork in the road; stay in the warm sanctity under her fur or leave it and eat. Her hunger won out in the end and reluctantly, she stood and rubbed her arms with her palms, trying and failing to warm herself a little.

When she sat down at the table and looked at the feast that was to be their meal, all thoughts of the cold fled as her mouth began to water. Dried meat, breads and spreads were neatly laid out in two separate plates with a bowl of fruit in the middle. Two cups also stood off to the side, a pitcher with it. Fit for a royal indeed.

Before she could dig in and fill the hole in her stomach, a sudden realization dawned. What if it was poisoned? She had after all told Lady Stark that she would do anything to survive and Lady Stark had declared vehemently that she would do anything to ensure the Northman's survival as well. They were tempting her, dangling food in front of her nose, a cruel way of torture indeed.

"Eat up, child. Do not be frightened. It may not be the cooks in Winterfell but I can assure you that the ones in the camp are adequate enough," Lady Stark said. She noticed that, even while speaking, Catelyn Stark had made no move to help herself and instead opted to regard her with a curious expression.

Glancing at the tray again, Marylean decided that the safest bet would be to go for the fruit. The chances of poison would not be as great and at least she'll have the opportunity to taste if something were off. She reached out to the apple, big and red as it laid on top, and carefully took a small bite, keeping her eye on Lady Stark. It tasted like heaven and she silently moaned as the juices flowed freely. If it were her last meal, she'd die happily Marylean decided, as she took the apple in both hands and tried to control the sounds that escaped her mouth as she began to ate.

"I spoke to my son this morning, and try as I might, that boy is too stubborn for his own good," Catelyn said as she too began to place food on her plate, a silent go ahead to eat. "I'm afraid that for the time being, you cannot leave the tent. I can have them arrange to bring books for you. Do you have any preferences?"

How peculiar, Marylean thought as she held out her cup to be filled with milk, a luxury she was sure, that this woman can be so flippant to what her son was: a power stealing fool. A strange thing indeed, a mother's love, if she were to condone her son's action.

"Anything would be fine, Lady Stark," she answered, not letting her voice reveal anything she thought of the woman. Trusting to food not to be poisoned now, she began to pile some of the dried meats on her plate.

"We'll have to do something about your clothes as well. And a cloak. I'm sure that you are not as accustomed to the cold as we are." Marylean nodded, only listening with half an ear as she sated her hunger and thirst.

"Well then, I'll leave you be," Lady Stark began as she stood, her food barely touched. "The day ahead is busy. I'll have servants bring you another bath as well as some clean clothes. A guard is to be posted outside, please do not do something irresponsible. I'll see you tonight."

"Lady Stark-" Catelyn stopped as she turned around from where she stood in front of the flaps "I- I. Thank you, Lady Stark. For everything."

A small smile graced the woman in mourning's features, yet did not reach her eyes. "You are welcome, Princess."

...

Three days. It took Marylean three days of being confined in a tent, stewing in anger, before it felt like she had lost her mind. Her original plan of reuniting with long lost family had been altered, but she was nothing if not adaptable. Time spent wisely could come in handy, especially when used to rustle the wolf's fur.

Marylean woke alone once again this morn. During the days, Lady Catelyn usually disappeared, probably to see that her son didn't throw a temper tantrum, and left Marylean alone. A few books had been brought in, mostly history, and she had already finished the one detailing all the great houses of Westeros.

However Marylean found that she became frustrated, being restricted. True to Lady Stark's words, servants had brought her clean, warmer clothes that fit better, servants clothes that had no doubt been borrowed, in dark colours. Another bed had also been brought in accompanied by more furs to chase away the cold.

A small commotion was heard outside: clanging of pots and pans, followed by a few squeals and then harsh grunts and skin slapping against skin. More bored than curious, she ventured outside for the first time since being brought here, moving with the shadows, past the sleeping guard to where the Crab was rutting against a maid.

Pity welled inside her for the girl that was being taken like a bitch; probably intent on staying in a possible Lord's good graces. Marylean scoffed at that and found herself thankful that she at least had the intellect and intuition to not need a man- or anyone else to give her a title.

Sighing, she turned away, intent on returning to her safe haven once more, when she accidentally tripped over a branch and fell face down into the dirt. The rutting stopped and she heard the rustling of clothes followed by footsteps approaching.

Intent on at least maintaining some dignity, Marylean stood up and brushed the fallen leaves and dirt off of her dress.

"Ah, if it isn't the little snake. You know, if you wanted me, all you had to do was ask, princess." When the sandy haired barbarian opened his mouth, Marylean was immediately irritated. Must be his gift.

"Over my dead body," she retorted icily as she began walking back to the tent. The sooner she reached her sanctuary, the better, Marylean thought as she hurried her steps along. She didn't get far before arms pulled her in close to a chest, rendering all escape futile.

"And what a nice body it is," he spoke next to her ear, as he began to skim his hands up and down her sides.

"Go fuck yourself Crab," she retorted through clenched teeth as a shiver passed through her. Marylean felt disgusted as unwanted memories of her time in the Red Keep flashed before her eyes.

"Is that an offer?" His hands had never once relented in his exploration and were presently groping her breast. No, she decided. She refused to be another victim to the lust of a man.

"Touch me and I'll scream, let's see how your King deals with you then." She managed to say, glad that her voice at least sounded calm, for inside panic had taken root. He wouldn't stop again she knew, there were no more younger boys present or an older man that had heeded her command the last time.

At the mention of his friend, he stopped and turned her around. His face was pulled into a scowl as he regarded Marylean before an evil grin pulled at the corners of his mouth. Chuckling he began to pull her along with him towards the big tent close to where she resided.

When they entered the tent flaps, it was to find the young Crown Thief bent over the large table. So Greyjoy had decided to make himself seem like a noble meek lamb it seemed, not if she had her way.

"Your friend here want-" she began, prompting Robb to look up for the first time.

"Silence, I come first."

"Most men usually do" Marylean replied saucily, her eyebrow arched. Men made it to easy to get them. One mention of their lackluster manhood and they were instantly riled up. Judging by the redness in his neck and ears, Theon Greyjoy was fuming.

"Enough." It was Robb who had spoken as he regarded them with a tired expression.

"I found this one wandering about, causing trouble in camp." Theon gestured as he pushed Marylean in front of him; a present for the Wolf.

A long silence passed before Robb bade the Crab to leave. Marylean's hands became shaky when they were alone and, in a bid to hide them, she folded her arms across her chest. The last time they had been left to themselves, it had not gone as planned.

"Explain yourself." She gave a soft sigh of relief when it seemed as if Robb Stark was calm and, after taking a deep breath she replied in an even voice, void of all emotion.

"I only wanted some fresh air, the tent became suffocating. The guard was sleeping and your mother was not there." He nodded at her reply as he walked and came to a stop in front of her. She had to crane her neck backwards at their height difference, but was determined to keep eye contact.

Robb watched her then, for a long moment just as she watched him, both measuring the other up, until the opening of the tent flaps broke the spell they were under.

"Marylean, there you are. I was wondering where you had gone!" Lady Stark exclaimed slightly breathless.

"Do not let it happen again," Robb replied through clenched teeth as he turned back to his table.

It would seem then, Marylean realized as she followed Catelyn Stark, that if she were to ever escape allies were needed. She knew now that the horses were at the back of the camp.

 **Robb**

The camp was bustling with activity as a few soldiers, stewards, lords and maids alike prepared for the trek that would take them into the claws of the lions. Tents were being taken down and wagons loaded in the early morning light, leaving the land barren of man's destruction once more.

A few leagues further South, passed the blue fork moving towards the trident, hardened warriors could be found, battling against mud and foliage that slowed their journey down. The more esteemed warriors and lords rode at the front on their steeds with the foot soldiers following. At the back the already loaded wagons containing sleeping tents and bedding could be found as well as the carriages in which prisoners rode, watched over by a few guards.

In the midsts of the travelers the young King could be found, on his feet leading his horse, as he braved the mud alongside his men. Sweat glistened on his brow as they continued their trek through the dense forest of the Riverlands and he glanced back at his men, noting their weary faces even though the sun had still not reached its fullest height in the sky. The Northerners had started their journey early in the morn, guided by the light of the moon and stars. It was safer that way, the King had said and easier to go unnoticed in the dark. But the heavy rains that had fallen the previous few days made the forest a nightmare to travel in and a wagon had already gotten stuck earlier, which slowed them down considerably.

Robb gave a heavy sigh as he tugged at his alabaster horse's reigns in order to prompt the animal to move further. The men were agitated, just as he was too, which in turn made the animals skittish. He had noticed that a few lords followed his lead in dismounting. Thankfully the women were not traveling with them as well as the larger carriages. He had already sent a message to inform them that they should hold off on traveling for a few more days. Robb and his men would manage without food supplies somehow. There were towns all around and a few more hunting parties could be dispatched. In the prosperous, fertile country of the Riverland's there was game aplenty, one just had to look.

The Young Wolf would take small victories in the times were the Fates seemed to conspire against them, and he did. He was glad that his mother was not amongst them, nor back at their previous camp. It was decided a week after he had been named King, the day before last, that she would journey to King Renly's camp in order to seek his alliance. It would be for the best that way; he would help Renly in his quest to sit on the blasted Iron Throne as long as the North remained a free and independent Kingdom.

"The storm clouds are gathering, your Grace. I've sent men ahead to scour the lands for a place to set up camp, but the nearest clearing is still leagues off. The Blackfish himself said that it looks like the storm will be upon us sooner rather than later," a gravelly voice spoke.

Robb looked to his left at the stoic lord that had addressed him. The man had a receding hairline. A few gray hairs could be spotted in his stubble, as a few wrinkles lined his face. The wrinkles were not caused by his advanced age, rather served as reminders to the wars he had seen. His stature was still strong and proud as most Northeners' were and he carried himself with a sense of power.

Roose Bolton was, all in all, still as sharp and strong as he had been in his prime,a worthy ally. But for all his virtues, Robb still felt himself to be a bit hesitant around the Lord of the Dreadfort, and not just because his father and grandfather had to suppress uprisings in the past. There was a glint in Roose Bolton's eyes that made Robb feel an unexplainable uneasiness some days.

A rumble was heard in the distance, emphasizing the statement Roose Bolton had made. Robb looked up overhead at the sky, through the leaves and branches of the trees, and notices that clouds had started to gather. It would not be long now until the sky was covered in a grey, dreary blanket that would deliver a downpour.

"Aye, I can see that," Robb said as he ran a hand over his forehead, wiping the sweat off his brow. "We need to seek shelter and fast. Any towns nearby that can hold an army?"

"The Blackfish mentioned Fairmarket. Said it was big enough. We'd have to travel a few leagues up north again and then east. Stone Hedge is still too far off and by the time we get to the Red Fork, it will be flooded."

Robb nodded as he contemplated his options; push the men and maybe make it pass the Red Fork, or turn around? He looked back at his men, seeing them muddied, weary and no doubt hungry.

"Aye, we'll go to Fairmarket. Give the order to the Greatjon at the back. We'll turn around at once. Gods be willing that we make it to town before the rains start," Robb spoke, not at all happy about the delay. The more time they spent here, the greater the chances that something would happen to his sisters.

"Aye, your Grace," Roose said as he moved towards the back. With a final sigh of agitation, he pushed through to give the order up front. He was not happy at all, but at least he was not Lord Umber. The man had been tasked with traveling with Marylean Targaryen, the only woman presently at camp, and he did not have the patience with having to hear her complain all the way up North, especially since they had just passed the worst of the muddied path.

...

The heavens had opened upon them just as Fairmarket came into view. Although vast in size there were not enough accommodations to house all the soldiers. Thankfully, as the wagons were in front when they trekked northeast, a couple of tents had already been erected. The town's people had opened their homes for the freedom fighters. A small envoy had been sent ahead to alert the town's people and, when they arrived nearing mid afternoon, food that could be spared had been prepared.

Robb himself along with his council and a certain prisoner, were housed in Fairer's Inn. The owner, a podgy elderly man and his daughter -a gap toothed girl around Bran's age- had immediately insisted that they should stay upon declaring that it was the finest quarter's in town. Never having stayed in a Inn Robb had nothing to compare it to. Most of his journey he had stayed in camp in a tent with his men, nevertheless he believed the man.

Frairer's Inn was situated in the town's main square and was surrounded by many business establishments as well as the farmer's market. Two stories high, the stone building with the pointed roof was neat. Inside on the left a waiting room was situated next to the Innkeeper's booking room. The door on the right hand side led to a parlor, complete with a bar and tables where people could enjoy a meal. It was from there that a staircase could be found, leading to the rooms at the top as well as a hall which lead to the rooms at the bottom.

The quarter's given to Robb was about the size of his tent, he decided as he discarded his now soaked cloak. A large plush, soft bed with a few to many pillowcases stood against the wall on the left and beckoned him. In truth Robb wanted nothing more than to fall down into sleep's waiting arms, yet he knew he could not: decisions still needed to be made about where to go from here. He felt -as he placed his sword belt on the small table stood between two chairs opposite the bed close to the hearth- that, since his ascend to King his days seemed to revolve more around talking rather than doing. And Robb, just as his father and the rest of his kin, save for his mother and delicate elder sister, were people of action rather than flowery words.

Sighing he walked over to the water basin next to the bed and began to wash his face. The most tedious and dreaded task of all, was the request his mother had given. A request that he did not want to grant, but when Catelyn Stark had looked at him with pleading eyes, he could not refuse and had immediately given in. Yet, now as he stood there, he wished his resolve had been stronger. To make sure that the woman who had, in retrospect slammed the nail in his father's coffin was well settled in, had Robb bristling, but he knew his anger was to be kept hidden.

Later, Robb decided as maids brought in a bath. First he wanted to wash himself clean and, maybe, the anger with it.

...

The scent of spicy meat, breads and ale wafted up the stairs and carried with it the sound of music, chatter and laughter of men. Robb felt marginally better after he had taken a long bath, something that was unheard of. He did not see it as a luxury more so than something that was practical, as all things in his life. Luxuries were never needed where he had been raised and he was once again dumbstruck by all the little nonsensical decorations further south.

But once he had sunken into the warm water, it was as if a spell had been cast and Robb's eyes closed of their own accord. He had dreamed again, the same dream that had plagued him since he started his march South; a woman clothed in white, begging to be set free. Usually she disappeared when crimson rivulets gushed from her flesh, but tonight he had to watch on in horror as he impaled her on his sword. Robb shook his head erasing the grotesque image and began to towel off. The words set me free still ever present.

Now, dressed in the clothes he had arrived in, still a bit damp from the downpour, Robb descended the polished wooden stairs to where it seemed a feast was held. True to his suspicions, when the darkness of the staircase gave way to light and the sounds of the merriment increased in volume, Robb was met with a sight he had last seen in Winterfell, when the late King had come to whisk his father away.

Big wooden tables where arranged to form a hoof in front of the counter area from where ale flowed freely. Candles where lit all around the room, fire burning brightly and illuminating the occupants in a light orange tinge, as if the sun had just risen. Chairs stood haphazardly around the area, some occupied, others not. On the table, the cause for his hunger was laid out: roasted meat, bread, vegetables and cups that never dried up.

The Lords sat and spoke merrily amongst one another, laughing as the stress and worries of battle dissipated and gave way to joy. Joy that they now march for the freedom of their land and safety of their families. Robb felt his spirit lifting a bit as hope burned as bright as the sun. Hope that, when the war was done and freedom theirs, that the North could be met with such merriment more often.

"Oi, men. Let us make way and raise our cups for our King!" a boisterous voice called out. A flicker of amusement passed Robb's face as he watched the Greatjon sway unsteadily on his feet. Looking around Robb noticed that most of the men were high into their cups as they rose on wobbly legs and cried out, "King in the North!"

The chorus gave way to chatter once again as Robb made his way to an open seat at the table that formed the middle of the Hoof, flanked by the Greatjon and lord Manderly.

"Forgive us your Grace," the Greatjon said as Robb sat down and began to load his plate with meat. "When the Innkeeper said a feast was readied...your Grace can't deny a starving man food," Greatjon continued, words a bit slurred and thoughts a jumbled mess.

"Aye, my Lord. Apology accepted," Robb said as he took his first bite. The frown on Greatjon's face disappeared then as he filled his King's cup with ale and turned back to his discussion with Lord Karstark on his other side.

Robb had not realized how hungry he was until he took his first bite and, just like in battle when his sword tasted blood, a frenzy started. He ate quickly something his mother would've no doubt scolded him about, but she was not here. There was no woman present, and with them all rules of propriety had gone. The lack of female company would also explain the missing presence of his friend, he decided as he scanned the crowd for Theon. Just as well, he reasoned as he took a swig of the dark bitter pleasant poison that filled his cup. Robb did not think he could sit through another discussion of how the maids were beginning to bore the womanizing Greyjoy.

"The letter to our remaining troops in the whispering wood has been sent as per your request, my King, as well as one informing Lady Catelyn that the weather is not working in our favor," a deep voice spoke next to Robb. He looked to his side to find Roose Bolton had taken a seat where Lord Manderly once was.

"Thank you, Lord Bolton," Robb began as he sat a bit straighter in his chair. Roose did not look to be participating in heavy drinking this night. "A meeting will be called in the morrow. Once this storm has passed we have to continue on south as soon as possible," Robb continued when it seemed as if Lord Bolton had no intention of leaving without at least something.

"Aye, Your Grace, I agree. We should plan carefully what our next move will be, before the Lannister's travel further North," Roose said as he poured himself a cup of ale. "If I may be so bold to say your Grace, the Targaryen in our presence has caused quite the stir amongst the men. Some of the lower foot soldiers believe her to be a witch, saying she is cursed."

"Aye, I've heard it all. Princess of Prophecies, Princess of Death. We all know it's nothing but old wives tales," Robb said carefully as he regarded Roose Bolton with a stern expression. These talks were tiring him and he already had a large enough burden on his shoulders. Robb did not want to have to contend with Lords and soldiers whose imaginations had taken a ride on the queer side.

"I fear my King, that if she were to stay longer in camp, that some men might become a bit skittish and could even abandon our march for freedom."

"What are you saying, Lord Bolton?"

"Give her to the Lannisters, my King. I've heard rumours that they might have use of her."

Robb blanched at the statement the Lord of the Dreadfort had just made. Yes, he might not have held much care for the girl, but giving her to the Lannisters would be a cruel fate indeed. Everyone knew what had happened the night the Targaryen's had fallen. Babies where crushed and her mother was brutally raped, then killed. No, Robb decided vehemently. Delivering Marylean to them was not a thought he cared to entertain.

"Your council has been appreciated Lord Bolton," he said as he rose to his full height. Suddenly what could've been a pleasant night had quickly taken a turn for the worse. "But the only exchange the Lannisters will receive is when they pay their debt in blood. Once my sister is safe they'll know how the North raised her children. I bid you goodnight, my Lord."

The sound of the feast died down considerably as Robb ascended the stairs to his room. Lord Bolton's request had once again reminded him of the burden that came with being King. So many lives hung in the balance and could be ended at the nod of his head. He didn't want that power and he had no idea how diminish the fears that his men's imaginations held.

So lost in thought was he that he did not realize he had walked straight past his quarters, down the hall, past the guard that walked vigilant as he protected the Northern lords' belongings, until he came to a stop in front of the door at the far end. A dim light shone through the opening as the door stood slightly ajar. He did not know why he came here, maybe he subconsciously craved the answer to questions that had arisen since his late father had sent a letter, that letter.

Movement from within caught his eye and he softly pushed the door a bit more wider open so as not to startle the woman inside.

Said woman was once again dressed in white, the garment she had worn when he had been named King by the looks of it. Marylean was sitting in front of the hearth, furiously trying and failing to make a fire it seemed. Pity welled inside as he realized that he could've been more attentive to her needs like his mother had asked.

How many nights had she gone to bed cold? Had she even eaten tonight? Had her possessions been returned? Did she have warmer clothes?

Deciding to bury the hatchet for the night, Robb walked through the door until he came to a stop where she was knelt.

"Need help?" Robb asked softly, hesitantly, afraid of corrupting the tranquility that seemed to be her companion in the absence of other people. No, him, Robb decided. She seemed to have been fine in the presence of his mother from what he could tell.

At once, she snapped her head up in his direction and he was taken aback by the fire that burned within her brown orbs.. The tranquil atmosphere had made way for an eerie coldness by now and for some unexplainable reason Robb felt as if he was still but a boy, trying to prepare for taking over as his father's heir. But, as she gazed at him in denial and hate, he realized that he was not that boy anymore, but a young man, who was raised with manners and -even though he would like nothing more than to throttle the woman who send his father to his death- that he did not want to leave just yet and be haunted by his thoughts.

With that in mind Robb knelt next to his fuming captive and took the rocks she tried to light a fire with as she spoke."I'd rather freeze to death than to-" she sighed, cut off in her protest as Robb resumed her previously failed task.

"The sticks aren't dry enough, you'll never get a fire started," he explained softly when he had replaced her pile with thicker, dryer wood and a bit of grass that was provided to catch the flames.

"Oh, Like you have ever build one," Marylean bit back while raising to her feet. Robb paid no mind to her tone of voice as he was assaulted by a memory from his childhood.

He had been six name days old at that time and on behest of his mother, was not allowed outside. None of the children were as a snow storm beat viciously against the walls of Winterfell. Bored and agitated, he and Jon had taken to helping Eddard Stark in his study with his with some duties, when suddenly, his father rose to his full height and declared that what he really needed to help him was a fire burning in the hearth as the castle was too cold. Eddard had walked his two little helpers to the fireplace where he had watched with amusement how they had soaked up all the information. They had taken their task to heart and had proceeded to light every possible hearth in the castle, until his mother had no other choice but to let them play outside.

"Aye, I have. Learned as a lad," Robb replied as the vivid memory ended in all it's bittersweet glory. The grass caught a spark and with a final blow of motivation towards the heart, the fire breathed life into the room.

For the first time since her and Theon's quarrel in the tent, Robb saw her close up. Still knelt on the floor next to him, he could make out that her bruises had completely faded, restoring her face to its flawless beauty. Her hair was sat ablaze by the flames and was interwoven into a thick golden braid that hung down to the small of her back.

Her skin, a golden brown shade, appeared darker against the white nightgown she wore and a sudden wave of sympathy crashed over Robb as he realized that this woman, young and beautiful, had also lost the only one that had raised her.

"So that's why you've come here, to bore me to death whilst regaling your childhood and all the suffering you had to go through. Imagine that, a lord's son having to fend for himself, it's simply horrifying!" Her biting tone suddenly shattered the vibrant memory of Eddard Stark and with it the sympathy he held.

Yes, she might have endured and suffered a lot, but at the heart of it, she was still a Southern woman, a royal none the less, who had no business behaving as she was now; like a spoiled, haughty little girl with a foolish mouth.

"A king's grown daughter, behaving as a child. Expected," Robb retorted as he rose to his height and took a threatening step forward. A sick sense of pride swelled within him when he noticed that she had taken several steps back, her arms folded in front of her and emphasized her breasts. Her gaze branded him with hate as they stared each other down, enemy against enemy across a battlefield of hate, frustration and opposing views of right and wrong.

Robb swallowed a lump in his throat as yet another memory assaulted him, this one of her, tied in his tent while Theon had taunted her. _"Spitfire this one, would be one hell of a ride if you want her."_. His friend had said and painted the picture that Robb was nothing short of a barbarian. That memory coupled with the fact that Robb had the power to demand such a thing should he wish, had him releasing the anger that gripped his bones within and leaning into the mahogany wall next to the fire that still burned idly in the hearth.

"I came to see if you are in need of anything," he finally confessed lowly, voice void of all emotion except defeat.

"No." The reply came abruptly and Robb scoffed on the inside at the manner in which she tried to dismiss him. He knew her reply was not true for even from a distance he could see the hairs on her arms stood on alert.

"Then why do I see goosebumps on your arms?" He asked, voice still low, calm and controlled. He had already had requests from two people to take care of the girl, and even though he may be a king, he would listen to them.

"Because you are here," Her reply came slower this time and its delivery was like a punch in the gut to Robb. What had happened? What had this war turned him into? A man that women feared? Is that the look his sisters gave to their captors each day? Is that the look that Sansa and Arya were prone to wearing nowadays?

"Do I make you nervous?" Robb asked as he clung blindly to the hope that she might be intimidated by him..

"You make me scared," Marylean admitted in a small but steady voice.

"I won't touch you," Robb said quickly, willing her to believe him. Ashamed Robb still lingered on the memory a while longer, before banishing it completely. No, he won't touch her nor any other woman without their permission.

"You may not, but you have a whole army full of men. Just one word from you-," Marylean protested vehemently, her voice rising the further she went.

"I'm a Stark, we have honour and show respect even to our enemies. Do you really believe me to bow so low as to give a woman on behest of bloodthirsty Lords?" Robb asked aghast. He wanted to grip her arms and shake her into believing him, but the silent promise he made earlier prevented any such action.

"Your name means nothing to me, nor does your honour, King Robb. You may not deliver me to those that cry for my blood, yet you still hold me captive when all I meant to do was make my way North." The truth of her statement didn't go unnoticed. Yes, from an outsider's perspective Robb did appear to be a villain, yet they did not understand his motives. She had condemned his father to death and he needed someone to bargain with should the exiled Targaryens rise once more, not to mention the last letter his father had sent...

"Why?" Robb finally asked as he refused to dwell on thoughts of his father for the rest of the night.

"Oh so all that time in the tent with your mother, King Robb, and you did not speak of the Targaryen. What in the seven hells did you do then?" Marylean asked mockingly, eyebrow raised. The implication was clear as day and although Robb wanted her to feel as low and common as she seemed to want him to feel, he refused to be reduced to such petty childishness.

"Answer the question," Robb demanded.

"I have family at the wall," Marylean replied after a few seconds of hesitation.

"Why not Dorne?" Robb asked, even though his mother had told him the gist of why she seemed to trek North.

"It would be the most obvious place for the Usurpers to look for me and after what happened at Rosby... There is evil in the world but they, men, are at the root of it and when they find me... They won't stop until...a word of wisdom, pray to your trees, the seven, the lord of light, anything that your sister's won't be harmed," as she spoke, her voice rose higher and higher and seemed to lose its smoky quality; replaced by hysterics of a person who has seen to much.

Once again Robb saw the victim his father must have seen and for the first time understood why Eddard Stark had stayed. No, Robb could not fathom what she must have been through, but he knew fear when he saw it, had felt it at the start of this war and every time he rode into battle, but the fear that had diminished the fire in her eyes spoke of tales that Robb did not wish to know, yet yearned to release her from.

"What happened to you, Princess?" he asked softly, cautious so as not to be another reason for the terrified expression on her face as she no doubt relived a horrific memory, trapped in the labyrinth of her mind's eye.

"Very bad things, your Grace," Marylean answered after a long stretch of silence had surpassed wherein only the crackling of the fire dared to make a sound.

"Nothing will happen to you here, no man will do any harm to you," Robb promised vehemently and swore a solemn oath to himself that from now on, no matter how irritating or angry she made him that he will bide by said promise.

"Do not make promises that you can't keep, Northman." The small smile and defeated look were enough to let Robb know that she didn't call him Northman to rile him up inasmuch as to break the air, stifled with tension, into a lighter atmosphere.

"Do you need anything?" Robb asked, changing topics.

"A few extra furs would be lovely," Marylean said, grateful for the lighter subject.

"Aye, it is done. Do you have a cloak?"

"No, the red one I came with was ruined."

"Then how did you expect to march north, in the snow? You wouldn't make it past the twins before frostbite set in and in the dress you came with none the less!" Robb asked aghast. Surely this woman was mad if she thought to make it through the biting cold North in nothing but the scraps of material she wore, tied up in his tent.

"I did not have you pegged as a man with a fascination for women's clothing, Northman," she smirked as the ghosts of her past seemed to have entirely fled, replaced with a woman who reeked of confidence and haughty mannerisms.

"Tomorrow, we'll walk around town, purchase a few things for you," he told her instead, paying no heed to the little jabs she seemed to be making at him.

"I suspect that there is more to your visit than this... whatever this is," she said, stifling a yawn at the end of the sentence. Not wanting to overstay his welcome or somehow break the fragile understanding they seemed to share at the moment, Robb opted to bid her goodnight. The other matters of discussion could be left for another time, a factor that he had an abundance of since he now had no intention of letting her go. Not when he finally understood what his father meant in the letter, saw what his father saw.

"Aye, but we'll leave it for another time, goodnight Princess," the young King said as he turned and made way for his own quarters.

"There is one more request I have, your grace," she called after him just as Robb came to a stop in front of the door.

"Aye?" he asked as he hovered in the doorway, turned in her direction.

"Set me free." Her words, spoken with a haunting clarity, made the ice in the young wolf's veins run even colder. Without thought of propriety, Robb turned around and slammed the door shut with a deafening boom which reverberated around the walls of the keep before he retreated to the cold enclosure of his room.

That night as the King of Winter slept soundly, the woman that walked in his dreams, had a familiarity about her. Instead of smelling death and decay, the wasted battlegrounds smelled of something sweet and exotic. Mist swirled around the vision in white that stood at the edge of a cliff, the same woman who had eluded him for a while now. Everytime he came close, she disappeared into the thick fog, only to call his name in a breathy voice a few seconds later. "Marylean!" Robb called as she once again eluded his searching grasp. Suddenly he felt the ghost of a cool touch on his hand as her arms encircled him from behind. "Marylean," Robb breathed in relief as he clasped her small, smooth sunkissed hand in his, a stark contrast to the white of his own. He felt her draw back and her sof body disappear once again into the mist. The hand that had held hers against his front was stained blood red and, as he gazed at it in horror, the wind whispered at him once again: _set me free..._

 **Once again thank's to each and everyone who have waited patiently. Hope the long chapter makes up for the lenthy delay. A huge thank goes out to Roheline for her constant motivation and MyWeirdWorld for giving her words of wisdom.**

 **That being said, I'm currenttly swamped with other obligations so I do know when the next one will be up. Any and all help will be appreciated, I know where this story needs to go, but how to get it there is the million dollar challenge. So any ideas would be very much appreciated! I have also thought about giving this story up for adoption so if anyone is interested, just let me know!**

 **Thanks once again for all the support. Remember to fave, review or follow!**


	9. Chapter 9

**I'm not even goint to begin and try to apologize for my tardiness. , there are no excuses. That being said, I hope you enjoy the next chapter. Merry (very late) Christmas and Happy New Year!**

 **Chapter 8. Of Monsters and** **Men**

 _"There are no heroes; in life, the monsters win"- Sansa Stark_

 **Marylean**

"Yes, yes. Oh yes!"

Marylean grunted in reply as fingers gripped at her flesh harshly to turn her around.

"Yes, right 'here." Unbowed, unbent, unbroken. She kept repeating, willing herself to grin an bear it. It won't be long now she hoped.

"Ah, hmm- almos' done, almos'... 'here." The princess heaved a relieved breath as the hands released her. Tentatively she staggered-walked across the tent. Her legs hurt, ached, burned. A pleasant feeling, she decided as she came to a stop in front of the Myrish looking glass.

After being cooped up for so long the trek through the woods yesterday coupled with the shopping she did today and standing in one position- for so long- had tired her legs in the most comfortable of ways. It reminded her of a life she had lived before this, her second return to Westeros. Of days in the Free cities as a small child, of walking incognito through Dorne and the brief few summers she had spent there at the palace where her mother grew up. Daena had been adamant about that: Marylean knowing where she had come from, truly. Forging her in the ways of the Dornish wherein women had power, a purpose other than that of bearing children. Unbowed, unbent, unbroken under the hands of foolish men.

Marylean saw herself staring back, illuminated by the candlelights. Finally she could bare witness to the fruits of her stock still labour and she was not entirely happy with what she saw. The dress that the overly excited wife of the innkeeper had made, was beautiful. Crimson in colour, it had long sleeves that covered half of her hands and a tight corset that accentuated her small waist before it fell straight to the ground in a waterfall of silk. Never before had she been as covered as she was now, dressed more as a Northern royal. The neckline though, was lower than what would be considered proper here and was a small act of rebellion and compromise that Maertha allowed.

"'here ye go, Princess," the woman, who had prodded and jerked her into the dress a few moments past, croaked as she placed the needles, threads and left over fabrics in her basket. "Now, don' be goin' and sullying that new pretty dress of yers, I still haven' yet finished the rest. But don't fret, deary, I will work through the night an 'have 'em ready with breakfast" She continued as she turned around and made to leave.

"Maertha?" Marylean called whilst she still stared at the beautiful stranger in the glass.

"Yes deary?" The woman asked as she turned around, wisps of mousy brown hair obscuring most of her face.

"The other, dresses. Make them looser, less formal." Marylean requested in a monotone voice before Maertha exited.

Her new attire was indeed beautiful. It disgusted her. The reflection sneered before disappearing as Marylean poured herself a glass of water before plonking down on a chair in her quarters.

No longer occupied, the young woman receded once again into the labyrinth of her mind. To hate was effortless. She had been raised with a vengeful heart and found it easy to cling to her anger, lest she be reduced to a puddle of tears. But her efforts to hate was for naught as she closed her eyes and succumbed to the bittersweet memories of her past.

As the moon casted silver light over the room from the open window, Marylean was reminded of the stories that Daena had always told them as children. Some where true, others made up but every single one was told with the utmost care. While Marylean had always enjoyed the ones involving her family most, Rhayna had favoured fables, particularly the one of how the moon came to be. Sometimes she would even get Marylean as far as to re-in act the tale with her- the younger of the two always taking on various smaller roles while Rhayna filled the shoes of the hero, Connyr.

Rhayna. The young woman hoped her dear friend and sister was safe. If all had gone well she should be in Dorne by now, warm and with people that cared for her.

She sighed and opened her eyes, staring out of the window of what felt like a prison. It is a prison a little voice whispered wickedly. Marylean couldn't help but agree. She was confined here by a Northern oaf none the less.

The princess marveled at the fact that such a small detail- one's origins- could make her despise another person so easily. A small part of her realized that it was uncalled for, but the other part (driven by fear) ruled her. Which was understandable, she reasoned as she took a sip of her water. A Northman had murdered her father, driven her from her home that was now reduced to a pile of shit and how could she forget that night...

 _The young girl skipped through the halls of the Red Keep, linen basket pressed between her bony hip and hand as the walls echoed the tune she whistled. Besides her soft song and the tap of her light foot falls, it was quiet. Given the time as well as the festive season- the halls were mostly deserted at this part of the castle. It was the Killers' son's birthday and tourneys had been held in the golden haired child's honour._

 _Even though she knew her guardian, Daena would disapprove if she were caught in the merriment of the occasion, Marylean couldn't help but be excited at all the wonders the tourney held. Knights jousting, men mock fighting, dancers, singers, jesters- it all reminded her of the place they had come from two summers ago. Dorne, where her mother had grown up. Oh how she longed to return there. But Daena had said that it would be dangerous and that they were to be careful. If someone were to get suspicious, it could lead to their doom._

 _Nonetheless, the girl of almost twelve summers whistled and skipped along the path that would take her to the Hand of the King's quarters where she needed to take her load. She imagined then, as she ran one hand along the rough stones, that she was the one wearing pretty clothes, eating sweet treats, the feast was held for her. She glanced down at the rags she was wearing, a dull brown dress tied around her waist and worn boots a few sizes to big, a far cry from the Dornish attire she had grown so fond of with all its bright red, purples and oranges._

 _Her father would be there, wearing a crown- and decrying that all brown materials be burned -as well as her mother, brothers and sisters. Daena and Rhayna would also be a present and they would both have rooms of their own. Big rooms with big tubs and expensive oils that Queen Cersei was so fond of. Darion, her skip faltered and she whistled out of tune, he was also welcome but she will have him shaved regularly and look proper._

 _So caught in her dreams of a life that would never be lived was she, that the little girl did not notice nor hear the commotion further down the hall. A young soldier staggered under the weight of the lord's arm that was draped over his shoulders. When they came into view, Marylean forgoed her skipping and walked at a slow pace, head down as most servants' were._

 _"Oi, oi. Slow down laddy. Now what do we 'ave 'ere, eh?" The older man slurred. He wore dark colours from top to bottom and the style of his clothes differed from what she had seen here. His face was obscured by a thick, bushy beard and his hair was wild, untamed. He came from the North she concluded as she recognized that accent, more pronounced than when the Killer spoke it, but there._

 _Marylean shifted the basket before gripping it tightly with both hands. She quickened her steps as she made to pass them, only to be stopped by a beafy claw that wrapped itself around her upper arm. The touch seared her through her clothes. Her heart picked up the pace of her skipping from before and the whistle that echoed was sharper, louder, wicked as the man turned her around._

 _"Aye, now 'there be a pretty lass my boy. We don' get skin like that at home," he exclaimed to the young soldier behind him while he ran his hand through her hair._

 _Marylean swallowed the lump of fear in her throat. She was scared, especially when he wrapped his other hand around her neck._

 _"Now lassie, why don't we see a bit more flesh, aye?"_

 _She could feel his nails digging into her skin, his foul breath blowing in her face and, by the way he stood, pressed against her, the poking in her stomach made her recoil violently._

The actions that followed made Marylean's skin crawl to this day. True to his word, the man had seen more of her skin, took pounds of flesh from her when he bent her over a desk and mounted her from behind. She had fought back in the beginning, scratched and kicked for all that she was worth, before she began to beg for mercy. Then the screams started. High, piercing wails of injustice and fear when he forced his way inside. Pound after pound, thrust after thrust she had cried out for her father, mother, Daena even to a brother and sister that had been stolen by death, as his violation continued.

Afterwards, when the deed was done and all innocence had disappeared from her eyes, he had discarded her. That day she had vowed to never again beg a man for mercy. For mercy had no place in this world. Underneath its carefree façade, monsters lurked and controlled and ruled. It must be a disease and illness that made all men monsters.

Robb Stark was one of these men, just as his father before him. A Northern man that preys on the weak and innocent. Unwillingly she recalled the way he had spoken to her last night, called her princess and asked if she had needed anything. She had admitted her fear of him- an incompetent move on her part since it gave him a higher upper hand. Even today he had been patient as they walked through town, he had stopped with her at every merchant's store and waited until she was done. When they had arrived at an establishment that sold cloths, he stood, out of place in a woman's world, while she chose a couple of materials. It went downhill from there when he exclaimed disbelievingly that she ought to know how to sew some dresses. An evil smirk played about her lips as a plan was concocted. Escape will have to wait, the sewed in letter needed to remain in place for but a while longer.

If the Northman wanted to keep her here she would release her silent wrath on the camp, lure him in with false smiles. Marylean had noted the way he looked at her within close proximity of one another. His face might remain passive but she recognized the lust in his eyes. Desire. Desire can make a monster weak, start a war and mayhaps just give her and Dorne the upper hand in this battle.

Yes, if she could bend Robb Stark to her will a lot of their enemies could well perish with no casualties on Dorne's part. He could very well pave the way, weaken the other forces for the Dornish army to swoop in and conquer her throne. And then, he will be discarded as all Northmen should be.

Afterwards, when the war was over and her kingdom was vanquished of lions and wolves alike, she could free her family from the wall. He just needed to be patient in that cold lifeless prison. Her plans needed to be set in motion. The biggest conundrum that mocked her was the fact that she had absolutely no way of communicating with her grandfather, the Dornish prince. She could only hope that he had faith in her and that Rhayna had arrived there in one piece. The letter she carried didn't reveal much, only that they were going to collect a crow in a cage, but hopefully that would be enough.

"Time to ruffle the wolf's fur".

 **Robb**

Robb was stood, grim faced as he stared at the Map of Westeros littered with wolves, stags, krakens and lions alike. The war was weighing heavily on the people, a fact that he was sourly reminded of upon departing Fairmarket. Muddy and wet his soldiers had trudged on when news came that the Red Fork would be possible to cross and now here they were, further south than he had ever been before, Stone Hedge, readying themselves to march into battle come morning.

He was not worried about the lions possibly infiltrating the North. With the Freys on his side the only way that Tywin could touch his homeland was by ship. That possibility will also be ruled out in the near future, Robb hoped. He had faith in Theon, faith that he would sway his father- Balon Greyjoy- to fight with him in exchange for an independent Ironborn kingdom as well. If he could get more men on his side- hopefully support from Renly- then Robb was sure he would have his sisters back come the end of the year. The sooner this war, his war, came to an end, the better. He had a winter to prepare for and given that he sometimes felt the need for a cloak even this far South, the coming winter will be brutal; a war all on its own.

But, thoughts of the far future would have to wait, he had a battle to prepare for, no matter how small it may be. Frowning Robb regarded all the pieces on the Map. Lions were still far more present then was preferred. Their biggest victory to date was the Battle of the Whispering Wood as it was fast becoming known. The smaller battles he had fought usually ended with the Lions retreating and then somehow coming back stronger than ever. It would seem that Tywin didn't shit just gold, but soldiers as well.

"If you keep frowning like that, you would soon lose your title as the young wolf, Northman."

Robb glanced at the person who spoke from the corner of his eye, attention still mostly on the Lion problem. She was the epitome of contradictions, dressed in a Northern dress the colour of the sun. He had not seen her since the day they had spent together in Fairmarket, but she was never far, haunting his dreams at night. In truth, he had avoided her.

"How did you get here?" Robb asked as he turned his full attention back to the map.

"I kept giving the guard water and waited until he needed to relieve himself before walking out." While she spoke, her voice grew louder and louder and soon he could feel the heat radiating off of her body as they stood shoulder to shoulder in front of his war table. He should be angry with her, as well as her guard Reuben Snow, but he couldn't find it in himself. Not tonight. Not when he had an impending battle on his hands as well as the lives of hundred other men.

"You went through an awful lot of trouble to see me then. What do you need?"

Robb didn't for one moment believe that she would come here if she didn't need anything, especially given that she had nearly bitten off his head when he had asked her why she couldn't make her own dresses. Not that he minded paying the innkeeper's wife, especially not now as he noticed the generous amount of chest that she showed off. He should've payed the woman more.

"Nothing, I just never got the chance to thank you for the other day. So thank you, Northman." Marylean said softly. Sincerely and for the first time that night, he looked at her. Really looked at her, from the braided hair to her bare feet that peeked out from under the ridiculous orange garment. He didn't see the woman who had a hand in his father's death. He didn't see a girl that can be used as a pawn in the game he had recently began to play, a bargain that can be used in the future, nor did he see the woman that haunted his dreams at night. He just saw her.

"You are welcome Princess." Robb whispered, afraid to break the silent tranquility. The few candles that casted a golden glow across the tent, flickered as if in agreement with their King.

"If you don't mind me asking, why is it so silent tonight?" Marylean, however didn't seem to share his thoughts as she spoke. True it was quieter than most nights in camp. All the waRriors seem to have opted for an early night to ensure their swords will be relentless.

"I would think that Rueben would tell you." Robb deadpanned, trying to tease her, but he was not as skilled. Was not used to speaking so nonchalantly with a person he did not know, even less considering she was a foe. He would need to find another guard for her, since this one had become a little too familiar. And just like that, he was once again reminded of the brutal reality that they were on opposing sides of the battle field.

"He couldn't, he was too busy drinking water." Marylean replied, mischief shining in her eyes.

In the past when he needed to ready himself to march, Robb would barely sleep; rather he would play every single scenario out, every possible move that can be made. Theon would sometimes spend some of the night with him and Robb would test his theories out aloud. But his friend was not here and she posed absolutely no threat he decided as he took in her slight frame and surprisingly open demeanor.

"We march tomorrow, before the sun comes out. The Lannisters are pushing back and we can't afford to have them at our flanks." He said while turning back to Westeros, serious once more. If Tywin did manage to come at them from the sides, he had no doubt that they will divide and conquer them, especially since he still had no word from his mother. The Northern numbers were to low to take on the Lannister army.

"Isn't it risky, leaving the camp unprotected? Tywin would surely stop at nothing to have his son back, I'm certain."Marylean asked immediately while picking up a Lion figurine. She touched it, inspected it thoughtfully, before putting it back once more. At once Robb recognized the slight quiver in her voice. Fear, this time for someone other than he himself. The young wolf counted that as a small victory.

"Aye, but I won't leave the camp unprotected, Princess, and it would be a big mistake if he were to do that." He attempted to reassure her.

"Why?"

"Do you see this place here," Robb began as he gestured to a place on the map on which a Lion stood "that is an estimation of where the battle will be taking place tomorrow. If Tywin were to attack the camp, they would be caught between our forces here and there." He indicated. It would be ideal for Robb, but messy and a mistake an amature would've made, or a woman it seemed. "It would be too much of a risk to divide his forces in such a way, his strength lies in his numbers at the moment and he is aware of that." Robb concluded his explanation.

"It would be a massacre should he chose to do so." She said while running her fingers along the Map.

"Aye"

"Will your men return tomorrow as well?" It was a good question that she asked so innocently. In all honesty Robb had no idea how long it will take place. Since they would only be pushing them back further, there was hope that they could return on the same day. It all depended on the resistance they would be met with. According to the scouts, it was only a small party that flew the Lannister banner, and since they will attack at dawn, the men would be caught off guard and hopefully flee or better yet fall.

Although, when asked he would deny it, Robb longed for a fight. The politics and worries were weighing too heavily on him and he could feel the anxiety in the air amongst lust for blood was palpable in the way his men spoke about their previous victories and sharpened their swords.

He didn't consider who she was when he spoke. Hearing the reasoning behind his decision solidified them and reassured him that this plan will work, this battle will have few casualties on his side. His hands, stained in blood, won't be drenched. Yet. "Aye, I believe so. We will only be driving them back, with minimum bloodshed and death on our part I hope. The trees will provide good coverage and the men here are used to the terrain and conditions which will give us a slight advantage."

"You will be riding with them?" Marylean asked surprised. The wolf figurine suddenly had a different place: her hands.

"Aye." Robb said whilst regarding her carefully. By now he had leaned slightly forward, supported by his outstretched arms that rested on the table.

She looked up from her inspection, brow furrowed in confusion. It seemed that this night was a night for questioning and all at once Robb wondered who would have the upperhand when it came to an end."Why?"

A long time passed before he answered her trutfully."I am their leader now and I cannot lead them if I am holed up in a tent."

"You are a King, and though I loathe to admit, a very important man." Marylean began as their gazes locked. He wanted to reprimand her for her quip, put her over his knee, but before he could follow through with the reckless path his thoughts had taken him, she continued in a small voice." What if you fall, what happens then?"

Robb sighed. It would appear then, that she once again only thought of herself. What happens to her. The young man knew he couldn't fault her for asking. Alone in a war camp with strangers and not knowing what will happen to her; he was surprised that she still seemed sane after all this time. Nearly three moons. "The fight lives on, for my sisters and the freedom of the North and her people."

"Do you have children?"She asked while finally putting the wolf figurine down. Apparently talk of war was done for now and the questions would get more personal. Robb didn't know how to feel about that. He knew that if he got to know her, he stood at risk of getting attached and attachments was something he could not afford. Best to answer her questions, let her get to know him instead of the other way around.

"Nay, not yet." Robb grunted, war was no place for a child. Definitely in the future, when all was settled, Robb would like to be a father. To have a big family of at least six children. Thoughts of children and family brought him back to his impending nuptials. When this was over he would go to Walder Frey to marry one of his daughters. He would marry a woman he had never met, never seen, the most beautiful of Walder's daughters, but from what he heard that was an easy feat. Robb would not consider himself shallow by any means, but if he were to spend the rest of his life with a woman he hadn't met he would prefer her to be at least somewhat comely. She would be the mother of his children, his daughters and he wouldn't want them to have to suffer from side remarks.

Without meaning to, Robb raked his eyes up Marylean's form once more. Now, if Roslyn resembled this woman that was steadily driving him mad, there could definitely be some fun in the bedroom. Presently she was leaning against the table, body turned towards him with one hand running through her braid seemingly absent minded."Is your wife with child?" His gaze followed her slim fingers as they ran from her neck, down, down, past her breast before coming to a stop at her waist where her hair ended and continued their trek back up.

"I do not have a wife." Robb sighed, shifting from foot to foot. When would these questions end? She reminded him slightly of when his other siblings were younger, their constant inquiries had driven him up the walls sometimes. How his mother and father had enough patience to raise six children (Jon was his brother no matter what his mother said) through such a phase was beyond him. Immediately Robb rethought his earlier decision of six children, maybe three would be more appropriate.

Marylean seemed to regard him with a stern expression for a moment. Her hands now folded in front of her."Then who is your heir?" The way she asked that question, haughtily with contempt, had his blood running colder immediately.

Robb did not like it one bit and his demeanor was closed off when he turned back to the table before replying."I have not named one."

"You should." She retorted, still with that same tone of voice. Was she blind to his anger or too dumb to see it. Or perhaps, Robb thought, was she goading him on purpose. He did not know which option he prefered. Robb scoffed, princess of prophecies the paranoid men called her, more like princess of ignorance and madness.

"Is that a prophecy, Princess?" Robb asked, jaw clenched tightly as she reached for a lion figurine once more.

"No, but it is inevitable," she continued without a care to the stoic King before her. Robb had to admit, reluctantly, that she was right. All men must die and this war ensured that most would meet the gods sooner rather than later. And although Robb had become a warrior to be reckoned with, he was still just a man. "What happens to me if you fall in battle?"

Ah, there it is, the real question. Robb regarded her carefully. Although her shoulders were squared and she appeared poised, he noticed the way she fiddled with the lion in her hands. Judging by her furrowed brow and the way her eyes had taken on a glassy shine, he suspected it was fear. Just like that he slipped back into the role of protector rather than predator. Unclenching his jaw Robb turned to her and gently placed his hand atop the fiddling mess that was hers. Marylean's skin was cold to the touch and, Robb saw as he pried her fingers from the figurine, it had lightened slightly. His vivid blue gaze ran over her face, pausing for a short moment at the small scar in her lip, before he locked eyes with her. "Even if I do not make it back, Marylean, you still have the Stark's protection, _my_ protection. That does not change." Robb said, willing her to believe him. She had had his father's protection, his mother's and now his. If he should meet his end, he had already spoken to Lord Umber about that. Even though the man had complained Robb's ear off after traveling with her once again, the lord had not complained when his King said that he was to ensure her safety in the event that Robb should fall. At least until his mother was back. She had seen the letter that her late husband had written to Robb and he trusted that Catelyn Stark would know what to do.

"Are you scared, of him?" Marylean broke the silence that settled over them. At first Robb was confused, frightened of who? But then he noted her eyes fixed on the Lion still in his hand.

"He is a smart man, a seasoned warrior." Robb said once realization dawned. Tywin Lannister. "I would be a fool not to be." The young wolf admitted while he placed it back on the Map.

"I am too" she said with a small smile while shuffling closer to him. She smelled of something sweet and spicy, a potent combination. It would seem then that they have found a common ground, hatred for the Lannisters. Hesitantly she touched his upper arm closest to her. It seared him through his woolen shirt despite its coldness. "Are you going to kill him?" She whispered in the air between them. Robb didn't have to think at all when he replied, eyes firmly on hers.

"Aye, I will kill them all." The smile he was met with stayed with him that night: while he wrote a letter addressed to Dorne as well as in his dreams. It was the first thing he thought of when Greywind nudged him awake, hungry for battle.

 **...**

Rivulets of sweat ran down his brow, some mixing with the small drops of blood to run further down his face. His hair was matted to his forehead and by now he was panting heavily. Every breath filled his nostrils with the metallic scent of blood. Robb wiped at his brow furiously before he parried another blow. The sun beat mercilessly against the ground; the heat a small reprieve of the colder weather they had experienced recently. It was definitely not ideal. All around, the harsh sound of steel meeting steel provided music to the warriors' ears.

Seeing an opening, Robb blocked his opponent's blow with one hand before metal screeched against metal to meet soft flesh beneath. Immediately he turned around and moved on to his next foe, alternating between blocking and attacking. Sure footed, Robb stepped over a severed limb. On his right he spied Greywind, viciously tearing the neck off of another golden soldier. The sight was formidable. Too late Robb saw his opponent strike again. This time the sword was blocked by the armor and Robb hissed at the small sting of pain. A bruise would surely be left behind. With renewed vigor, the young wolf attacked: advancing on his foe as he brought his sword up, both hands wrapped around the hilt and swung. His opponent jumped back, but not far enough. Robb's sword sunk into the soft flesh of the other man's neck, blood gushing from the wound as he fell, dead before the victor's feet.

The rest of the day, was much the same. The forces the Northern men were met with, was stronger in numbers than what was originally thought and they were met with more resistance than was bargained on. But despite their plans being slightly upturned, the North still rose as victors when, at midday, the last of the Lannisters either retreated or fell. The once soft green pastures were now trampled with hooves and boots, stained crimson under the onslaught of man's fury. Limbs and corpses littered the small clearing and sporadically a cry of pain was heard as those that had no hope for survival were put out of their misery, soldiers and horses alike.

Heaving a sigh, Robb pulled the gloves from his right hand, the fine leather sticking to it slightly as peeled it away. The four inch long gash running across its back opened up at once, oozing blood onto his skin. Reaching down he tore a strip of cloth from the hem of his shirt that peeked out from under his armor then proceeded to bandage the superficial wound. Once he'd finished he looked up and saw the Greatjon limping slightly towards him, a big smile on his bloodied face. "Another victory, my King!" He exclaimed a bit breathlessly as he came to a stop at Robb's side.

"Aye, Lord Umber it would appear so." The young King replied while he began walking through the battlefield, taking note of all the casualties on his part. Not many Northmen had fallen from what he could see, but a few appeared to be injured. The wagon will come shortly to collect them, they just had to be patient. Corpses of the golden army where being collected. It was decided at yet another council meeting- which he despised- that the dead will be burned. Given that they were only a couple of leagues away from their camp, the smell of rotting flesh could travel there if the wind chose to do so.

Greatjon, still at his side, stumbled slightly over a bony arm. That of a child no older than Bran dressed in golden armor. Disgusted Robb looked away, bile rising in his throat. It was not the first time he was met with such a sight, but it never became any easier. "It would be good to celebrate tonight, aye my King? The men deserved it after the fight they put up." Lord Umber asked hesitantly while he looked at Robb intently, also uneasy by the reality of children fighting in wars.

Robb didn't feel like celebrating. What where they celebrating anyhow? The morbid reality of death? A small victory that had still not won them a war? It seemed pointless, but still Robb relented. He will clandestinely host it as a thank you for his men while he would seek solace someplace quiet. Maybe ask one of his uncles if they know of a Heart Tree nearby. It was with another heavy sigh that Robb finally relented. "Very well, Lord Umber. But tomorrow a council meeting will be held."

"Growing fond of those are you, Your Grace?" The Greatjon teased, knowing full well of his King's dislike for such matters.

"My Lord the day I grow fond of council meetings, you have my permission to run a sword through me yourself."

...

Usually upon his return, Robb was greeted by his mother. Then, after pleasantries were exchanged and he had cleansed himself of his enemies' blood he would seek solace in the woods where it was quiet, Greywind usually his only companion. He would pray and give thanks to the gods for guiding his actions and decisions on the right path.

Now, he found himself alone in his tent, hair still damp from the bath he had taken, dressed in his usual breachers, jerkin, shirt and boots. When they had finally returned just when the sky was beginning to turn purple, it was to find their warcamp unscathed. Immediately he had made the announcement that there will be a celebration held this night in lieu of their victory and cheers of "King in the North" and "Long live the King" echoed throughout the tents. He didn't want this admiration and responsibility resting on his shoulders. Outside, he could already hear the men boasting about their accomplishments, the boisterous laughter and merriment a stark contrast to this morning's silence. Robb didn't want to join in the jovial mood, his head had already began pounding and there was still so much to do. But he had promised Lord Umber, and by the sound of things, the men needed a distraction. No doubt they missed home just as much as he did.

Having bade them goodnight as soon as possible, he found himself now stuck in his tent, more agitated than he was when he was sat in front of the great fire while the Smalljon told another tale of 'when I was in a brothel'. There was only one place to go at this time of night if he didn't want to be alone seeing as Greywind had decided that collecting scraps of meat and bones from the soldiers were more fun than spending time with his brooding master. With his mind made up, Robb exited the tent and, concealed by darkness, navigated his way to a smaller tent not far from his. Rueben Snow, a very unassuming man with dark hair and dark eyes, stood on high alert when he saw his King, not wanting to disappoint. But Robb waved the clearly reluctant man off. A guard would not be needed right at this moment.

Robb was just about to call out for permission to enter, when movement from the small gap between the tent flaps caught his eye. Inside Marylean had just stood up from the bath, water glistening on her tanned naked skin, her back turned to him. So this was why Rueben was so reluctant to leave, Robb concluded as he watched her step out of the tub. It was not honorable to do this he chastised himself. To spy and lust after a female captive that depended on his goodwill to keep her safe. To break their uneasy truce because he acted like a foolish boy that saw a woman for the first time was not worth it. But, even though he was honorable, he was still just a man and his body betrayed his good intentions.

Robb shifted slightly when Marylean disappeared from his vision, a towel in her hand, when... good gods. She was turned towards him and was without a doubt one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. He followed the towel's path enviously. How would it feel to touch her bare skin, caress her breasts, to chase the droplets that ran passed her waist down, down... Robb finally managed to win the battle against his eyes as he teared his gaze away before he had a chance to go below her flat stomach. But the war was not yet won seeing as his booted feet where still rooted on the spot.

The young wolf clenched his fists tightly at his side as he willed the lust to reside. He was betrothed and he had promised Marylean that no man would touch her as long as she was under his protection, him included. The stinging in his hand was the only distraction he had right now as the wound reopened. Robb focused on the way that blood ran down his fingers, a distraction that seemed to be working as he noted that his breathing had returned to normal.

"Are you going to stand outside my tent and either bleed or freeze to death, or are you going to come inside, Northman?" The voice, that voice, was the turning point in the war against his body. Robb entered as Marylean held the tent flaps open in invitation, thankfully dressed in the white nightgown he had spied her in before.

Her quarters where smaller than his, but held a single bed, a table on which various items stood haphazardly, a chair and a tub. It was practical and all that she could need. He was satisfied.

"You know," Marylean began while leading him to her small bed. "There are healers in the camp that would gladly make you their top priority I'm certain," she continued as she pushed him down and went to collect a trunk that was underneath the table. She rummaged through it a few moments before producing a small jar of what looked to be a green paste. "You didn't have to come to me for help, I could prove to be fatal." She teased. At last she proceeded towards him once more, a water baisin in one hand, while the other held the green paste, a cloth and another piece of white material. Robb looked down and saw the night dress that was once too long now hung just below her ankles.

Robb lengthened his spine when she sat next to him. Candlelight illuminated her rich brown tresses that was for once loose and hung straight down her back, turning the white woolen dress into a darker colour. "Give me your hand" she commanded softly.

Robb obliged, placing his large, injured calloused hand into her smaller cold one, palms facing each other. Gingerly she wet the cloth and wrung it out before she began cleaning the wound. It was a shallow cut that would not require any stitches, but still he entertained her. Once the blood was cleaned, she proceeded to spread the green paste all over. It had a spicy, pungent aroma to it and Robb wrinkled his nose. She remained impassive, probably used to the smell. The nursing session was concluded when she bandaged his hand with the white woolen material and gathered all the items on the bed. His eyes followed her as she moved about the tent, placing the items on various places, before she cleared a space on the table and hopped onto it; one leg crossed over the other.

"Where did you learn to do this?" Robb finally spoke to her for the first time that night, his voice sounding hoarse even to his own ears. Asking her a question as personal as this went against the prisoner policy he had made up, but by gods he wanted to know at least something about her that was not told to him by his mother or written by his father.

"My guardian, Daena, found a man dying on our doorstep. She nursed him back to health and naturally we, her daughter and I, helped" she gave a slight pause, probably wondering whether she should divulge further information, before she made up her mind and continued. "During the years that followed he became a sort of protective shadow and when there was a wound from a fight he had gotten himself into. Well, he would show up and we healed him. It was the least we could do given that he came in handy more than once." She finished.

Noting that her voice had taken on a slightly sad tone, Robb concluded that he should leave further questions on that subject, for now. In a bid to lighten the mood, and because he did not like the tension that hung in the air , he tried to steer the conversation in a different direction.

"Tell me about Dorne." He tried and at once her eyes lit up. A victory for him.

"Oh, there is so much to tell. Where to begin?" Marylean said in a wistful tone. Before he could answer her question she continued. "It's always warm and sometimes it seems as if the sun will never stop shining. There is sand, rich golden sand as far as the eye can see, even the houses are made out of it. Through the region a few fountains can be found with an endless water supply wherein children play to their hearts' content. The older people prefer the sea, a clear blue on most days which delivers a nice reprieve from the heat. But the best is not the warmth or vibrant colours or the fruit trees and spiced wine, but the people and their customs. Everyone is equal there. Men and women are free to love and make love to whom ever they want. It's a place where all inhibitions are forgotten and people dance sporadically with lively music, no partner needed. In short it is the closest thing to paradise that I have ever experienced." Marylean said as their eyes locked.

It sounded to Robb more like the seven hells and not just because of the unrelenting heat she spoke about. It sounded like there was absolutely no common structure for society, no place for discipline and hard work. But, thankfully before Robb could speak his mind or stow in his anger, the tent flaps opened once again. Never before had he seen someone move so fast. One minute Marylean was perched on the table and the next she was pressed close to his side, wide eyed as she stared at Greywind who had entered the tent and was now walking towards them.

Robb looked down when he felt a stinging sensation on his upper arm to see both her hands firmly clinging to him, nails biting into his skin more and more with each step Greywind took. He chuckled softly at the expression that graced her feature, before reassuring her. "Do not worry, he won't hurt you. Greywind, sit." Hearing his master's authoritive tone, the large wolf immediately sat on his hunches, tongue lolling out at the side. He had to admit that Greywind made a rather horrific sight at the moment and could understand why she was frightened- her grip on his arm loosening but still there.

Big and vigilant the animal sat in front of them, his muzzle stained various shades of red and brown, some of his hairs forming clots. But the direwolf did not do anything else but stare at his master and the woman that clutched his arm beside him, head tilted curiously to the side.

After a while Marylean completely let go of his arm, sitting slightly forward as her curiosity won over. It was not the first time she had seen the wolf he knew as he remembered the day they had met. It was, however, the first time she had seen him as he truly was: a wild animal that proved invaluable in a fight. "Can I touch him?" Marylean whispered quietly while looking back at Robb.

"Aye, go ahead." Robb said, more amused by the display than he cared to admit. Still hesitant, she stood up and closed the distance between them slowly, hand outstretched until she placed it on his head and began running her fingers through his fur.

Gaining more confidence her other hand soon joined the first one until she was full out caressing the large wolf's head. "Aren't you beautiful, Grey..." She trailed off seeming to have forgotten the beast's name.

"Greywind." Robb supplied, only to be met with a raised eyebrow.

"Greywind?" She asked amused and Robb just nodded his head. He was used to such reactions after people heard the name, but it was not as humorous as it was strange, not like Shaggydog anyway, nor did it have the irony that "Lady" held.

With his elbows on his knees, hands clasped together in front of him, Robb leaned forward as he watched the scene play out in front of him. Greywind seem to glance at him as if to say "what is happening" as Marylean continued to coo in his ear. Before long, she fetched the water baisin and cloth that she had used to clean his hand and proceeded to do the same for Greywind.

Eight times she rose to collect clean water from the tub before all the blood and mud was nearly cleaned off of his coat. The young man, still watching the unlikely pair intently, suddenly found himself jealous of the ease she carried herself with around the wolf.

"After fighting for a whole day you deserve to be clean." Marylean continued to speak to the wolf as she ran her hand through his fur. If Robb was a different man, someone like Theon, he would quip that he too deserved a bath seeing as he fought all day long. But that was not to be and he only ran a hand through his now dry hair. Greywind detected something amiss and went to lay at his master's feet. His new admirer, however didn't seem as keen to return to Robb's side now that the big bad wolf was placated and returned to her place on the table.

"Congratulations on your victory." Marylean said, unintentionally reminding him of the corpses of young boys in golden armor. Robb rubbed his hands together. There was no doubt in his mind that some of those boys could've (and probably had) fallen before his sword.

"A small battle won, does not make me a victor in this war." He replied solemnly, trying to swallow down the bile in his throat as his stomach turned at the still grotesque image that his mind had conjured. Maybe Marylean was right to distance herself from him after all. He was a bigger, badder wolf than Greywind.

"No, it doesn't, but it does bring you one step closer." She said softly while she ran a brush through her damp hair. When had she started doing that?

"Aye, Princess I suppose it does." Robb replied while he shook his head. Leave it to the prisoner to be optimistic he thought sardonically. An uncomfortable silence filled the air, interrupted at random by Greywind huffing while he slept. Something however still nagged at the auburn haired man that had nothing to do with battles. "Earlier, you mentioned that a man had followed and protected you through your travels. I do not recall Theon reporting that you had a companion." Daena, he knew what had happened to her and her daughter (around his age he guessed) had probably fallen with her mother at the Slaughter of Rosby. And even if Daena Sand's daughter were alive, she did not pose much of a threat in a man's world. But Marylean had to have had some help getting as far as she did. That man could possibly be a problem.

"I killed him." At first, Robb did not understand what she said. Killed him, surely she was making some sick jest? But while he looked at her, he saw no glimmer of mischief in her eyes nor a teasing smile at the corner of her mouth. She was staring at him, daring him to defy her.

"Why?" Robb inquired impassively. He was still in shock. How could a small woman such as she kill a man? It didn't look as if she could even lift a sword. One blow or slap from her opponent- even one of average strength- could knock her off her feet.

"He sold us out. Soldiers had tied Daena to a post and beated her violently for any information on my whereabouts. Even when they burned her alive, she gave up nothing," Marylean began, voice quivering as she spoke. She looked down, glancing at the sun that hung around her neck, before she continued. "But, for a shiny new dagger, that rat had sang. He would've no doubt given me up for the right price so I took care of it, avenged Daena in the process." Her voice didn't waver once when she concluded her tale. How could she have done that, killed a man she knew all her life and not bat an eyelash while recounting the events?

He must have probably said some of his thoughts out loud because Marylean continued. "I may not have any skill with a sword or know how to fight, but I do know herbs."

Ah, so she had poisoned him, that made sense. Abruptly Robb stood up. She could've easily killed a guard, slipped something in his water, yet she didn't. Was she also playing a game, while he was too blind to see it? Was her smile false and had his father fell victim to it as well? "I could prove to be fatal" she had said earlier in the night. Robb fisted his hands at his side while he clenched his jaw. If he were not a Stark, she would've been given to the Lannisters a long time ago. As he searched her face, Robb noted her blazing eyes. There was no futher doubt in his mind that she could obliterate everything in her path with that fire.

Trembling with rage, he bade Greywind to wake up before he walked up to her and wrapped his hand around her slender neck. Her hands immediately went for his wrist while her eyes widened for the second time that night. "From now on Greywind will be your gaurd. If he so much as looks sick, you will feel my wrath Princess. " Robb replied squeezing her neck for emphasis. With that he stormed out of the tent on his way to a Maester while he unwrapped the makeshift bandage.

Robb only hoped that he had not caught aflame.

 **Cersei**

Rich golden strands as smooth as silk ran through her delicate fingers that were decorated by fine rings, a stark contrast to the forest green gown that she wore.

Her attire spoke of wealth and the way she carried herself -with a stiff upper lip- belied the lavish lifestyle she had been born into. All her life she had never wanted for anything, except for once. Materialistic things were easy to come by, and with a father as cunning and prestigious as hers, an image had been ingrained from a young age. She had wealth, power, protection and not to mention beauty. It was said by many that she had a face that could launch a thousand ships and her father had to fight off suitors from far and wide. But once she too was a foolish girl and had sought the love of a man, had given herself body and soul only to have him cry out a corpse's name whilst still inside her.

Luckily the man that had made a fool of her was dead. Her only regret was not bringing on the death sooner.

It didn't matter anyway- then or now. When love was needed she always had one who had given his heart and affections unconditionally, equally as beautiful as her. Jaime Lannister, the father of her precious golden haired children. If she closed her eyes she could clearly recall all their clandestine meetings, which usually had her stomach clenching. Unconsciously she shifted her legs from where she sat in front of her vanity as heat pooled low within her belly.

The release she needed would have to wait as she recalled that her paramour wasn't here anymore. Nor in Tywin's camp. He had been cruelly taken captive by the Stark heir, the Young Wolf as he was fast becoming known. A young thorn in her side is what he was, sending those terms to her. The audacity of that boy! If it weren't for the precious cargo he carried within his camp she would've released wild fire upon him, burnt the whole damn Riverlands to the ground to rid them of this problem.

Speaking of problems, Cercei spied the young girl that stood before her as she turned. With midnight hair and sunkissed skin, the Dornish girl certainly had something about her. Exotic beauty, but hardly anything to write songs about. And they had for her, the queen sneered with glee, many a song had been written about her beauty.

"You called for me, my Queen," the girl began demurely although her voice was hard. A fighter this one, just like me Cersei thought. Here is a girl that knows what it takes to reach the top and had no preamble about doing questionable things to get there. Why she had even sold her mother out to get to secure a place in the castle.

"Indeed I did. My father sent word that you must convince the Prince of Dorne that Marylean's allegiance to them has failed and while you are at it, put in a word of the benefits of a Lannister alliance." Cersei began as she searched the girl for any sign of hesitation to do the job. "it is imperative that Dorne does not have that little Targaryen snake to legitimize a claim to the Iron Throne." Cersei finished.

"Yes my Queen, and may I be so bold as to ask that my position in court be of higher rank should I succeed?"

Cersei smirked as the girl asked. Ambition is what drove her to betray her mother, Daena Sand, and ambition is what will ultimately be her end as well. When she has served her immediate purpose, it would definitely be easy to either kill or grant her a higher position in court, depending on her usefulness in the future.

"If you succeed, Rhayna, you will never want for anything again. And I could even arrange for you to marry a Lannister," Cersei laughed on the inside. She could have Tyrion of course and maybe, just maybe, the girl will kill her dwarf of a brother. One can only hope.

"Success is guaranteed, your Highness. Consider Marylean Targaryen to not be a problem any longer."

 **There you have it folks, hope the length made up for the long wait. Just wanted to thank everyone that has stuck through me, my lovely Beta: MyWeirdWorld, and Mopargirl1 as well as Roheline and darkwolf79, your constant support really helps a lot! That being said, thank you to all my lovely readers, old and new, you guys are the epitome of awesome. Please leave a review, it really helps to get one going I would so love to hear your opinions, good, bad, happy or sad!**

 **Thanks again**

 **Eserechia**


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